SCHOOLMASTE 


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THE    SCHOOLMASTER 


IN 


COMEDY  AND  SATIRE 


ARRANGED  AND  EDITED  FOR    THE   SPECIAL    USE 

OF  TEACHERS'  READING   CIRCLES  AND 

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COPYBIGHT,    1894,   BY 

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5 


INTRODUCTION 


Two  of  the  three  humorists  who  are  reckoned  greatest  in 
the  literature  of  the  world  have  left  to  us  pictures  of  education 
which  have  passed  into  proverb.  The  greatest  of  dramatists 
devoted  to  the  portrayal  of  an  academy  one  of  his  brightest 
and  happiest  comedies.  Of  Pope's  incomparable  satire,  the 
book  which  is  distinguished  as  The  Greater  Duriciad  is  devoted 
to  educational  shams.  Colman  the  Younger  is  still  preserved 
from  oblivion  through  the  humorous  delineation  of  educational 
absurdities  in  one  of  his  dramas.  The  greatest  and  most  pop- 
ular of  novel  writers,  whose  works  exert  an  inestimable  influ- 
ence in  favor  of  reforms,  owes  his  reputation  largely  to  his 
satirical  pictures  of  school  life.  The  most  popular  English 
playwright  of  the  past  generation,  and  his  contemporary,  the 
favorite  painter  of  manners  among  the  dramatists  of  France, 
have  both  chosen  teachers  and  pupils  for  the  subjects  of  merry 
plays.  A  favorite  German  writer  of  to-day  has  been  most 
happy  in  a  character  study  of  a  German  gymnasium. 

There  is  a  potent  moral  force  in  humor  and  satire;  and  there 
are  few  stronger  influences  than  these  that  can  be  brought  to 
bear  on  the  training  of  teachers  and  the  improvement  of  sys- 
tems of  education.  Moreover,  the  rank  of  the  authors  to  whom 
reference  has  been  made,  and  of  others  as  well,  seems  to  ren- 
der it  especially  desirable  that  teachers  shall  become  acquainted 
with  their  style,  and  with  their  place  in  literature. 

3 


4  IX  TROD  UCTION 

For  this  reason,  and  because  of  the  favor  with  which  The 
Schoolmaster  in  Literature  has  been  received,  the  publishers 
offer  this  book  as  a  companion  volume,  in  the  belief  that  it 
will  be  found  a  source  of  pleasure  and  of  profit  to  teachers 
and  to  the  general  reader. 

With  the  satirical  and  humorous  selections  have  been  incor- 
porated some  other  extracts  from  modern  classics,  which  have 
been  greatly  admired  for  their  beauty  and  for  their  elevated 
tone.  Among  these  are  pen-pictures  from  the  first  of  the 
great  Russian  novelists  —  Gogol  —  and  from  such  other  nota- 
ble authors  as  Fdnelon,  Maria  Edgeworth,  Nathaniel  Parker 
Willis,  and  Arnaud  Berquin,  "  The  Friend  of  the  Children"; 
also  a  sketch  from  a  representative  American  educator  of  the 
present  time.  . 

The  selections  from  Rabelais  and  Fe"nelon  are  revisions  of 
old  and  standard  English  versions.  The  translations  from 
Berquin,  Scribe,  Gogol,  and  Eckstein  are  original  and  new, 
having  been  prepared  expressly  for  this  volume.  The  render- 
ing of  "  The  Visit  to  the  Cell "  is  by  the  late  Hanf ord  Skinner, 
and  represents  the  last  literary  work  of  a  gentleman  of  rare 
scholarship  and  promise. 

In  order  to  adapt  the  volume  especially  to  the  needs  of 
Reading  Circles  and  Round  Tables,  and  of  individual  students 
of  literature  and  education,  the  book  is  divided  into  parts, 
corresponding  to  the  months  of  the  school  year,  and  is 
furnished  with  outlines,  pedagogical  notes,  and  suggestive 
questions  for  reviews  and  examinations. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Francois  Rabelais 9 

The  Education  of  Gargantua  and  Pantagruel 12 

Roger  Ascham,  the  Father  of  English  Schoolmasters       .  34 

Ascham  and  his  Pupils 36 

William  Shakspeare 45 

King  Ferdinand's  Academy 48 

Fe'nelon 73 

Telfimaque  and  Mentor.         .                 76 

Jonathan  Swift,  the  Great  Irish  Dean 101 

The  Academy  at  Lagado 103 

Alexander  Pope  .        .        .       . .     .       .       .'               .       .        •  129 

The  Greater  Dunciad .        .        .131 

Arnaud  Berquin,  the  Friend  of  the  Children         .       .        .151 

Fashionable  Education 162 

Colman  the  Younger 179 

Dick  Dowlas  and  his  Tutor 181 

Maria  Edgeworth 216 

The  Dame  School  Holiday 218 

Eugene  Scribe 259 

The  Two  Preceptors 260 

Nathaniel  Parker  Willis 289 

The  Scholar  of  Thebet  Ben  Khorat        .        .        .        .        .        .        .290 

Charles  Dickens 301 

The  Gradgrind  System  of  Education 303 

6 


6  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Gogol,  the  Father  of  Russian  Novelists 381 

Tentetnikof  and  his  Teachers 383 

John  Godfrey  Saxe 410 

Progress 411 

Thomas  William  Robertson 421 

School    .  422 

Charles  William  Bardeen        .       .       .       .       .       .       .        .453 

The  Norway  Free  High  School 464 

D'Arcy  Wentworth  Thompson .493 

School  Dreams  at  Dunedin 494 

Ernst  Eckstein 620 

The  Visit  to  the  Cell .         .        .        .621 

Outlines  and  Notes  for  Reading  Circle  Work       .       .        .539 
Questions 688 


RABELAIS 
ASCHAM 


THE   SCHOOLMASTER   IN   COMEDY  AND 

SATIRE 


FRANQOIS   RABELAIS 

EVERYBODY  has  heard  of  Don  Quix'ote,1  the  hero  of  a  famous  Spanish 
story  which  has  been  translated  into  all  the  languages  of  the  modern  world. 
Every  one  has  laughed  at  the  poor  man  who  became  crazed  by  reading 
romances,  and,  imagining  himself  a  knight  of  the  old  time,  went  about 
fighting  windmills  and  killing  sheep,  all  the  while  believing  that  he  was 
performing  prodigies  of  valor.  Cervan'tes,  the  author  of  this  burlesque, 
performed  a  great  service  to  society.  It  has  been  said  that  he  "laughed 
chivalry  out  of  Europe."  Monarchs  and  statesmen  have  often  found  the 
shafts  of  ridicule  more  formidable  than  hostile  armies.  So  with  chivalry, 
that  system  of  government  and  society  which  had  included  much  that  was 
absurd  with  much  that  was  heroic,  and  which  had  outlived  its  usefulness. 
It  yielded  to  the  satire  of  Don  Quixote  and  disappeared. 

In  much  the  same  way  the  great  French  humorist  Rabelais  (rab'lay') 
rendered  a  service  to  mankind  by  portraying  the  absurdities  of  the  educa- 

^    tion  and  government  of  his  time.     Much  of  his  work  is  now  deemed  wholly 

^.    unfit  for  general  reading.     Often  its  coarseness  is  shocking  and  disgusting. 
v    It  is  a  matter  of  surprise  to  the  unlearned  that  a  work  so  foul  at  times  in  its 

^s|   language  was  ever  permitted  to  exist.     It  must  be  judged  historically  by  the 
•    good  it  has  accomplished  and  by  the  standard  of  its  day,  which  was  very 

^  different  from  that  which  now  obtains  among  the  cultured  nations.  And  so 
judged,  we  cannot  regret  that  it  was  written.  While  we  hide  its  indecencies 
in  a  just  oblivion,  we  may  even  now  enjoy  a  perusal  of  much  that  it  con- 
tains. Had  the  work  been  written  in  any  other  way,  it  probably  would 
never  have  exerted  a  potent  influence  for  reform.  Presumably  it  would 
have  been  forgotten  within  a  few  years,  if,  indeed,  it  would  have  attracted 
any  considerable  attention  at  all. 

1  Many  persons  imitate  the  Spanish  pronunciation  of  this  word.  It  is  better 
to  pronounce  it  according  to  English  analogy.  We  have  derived  from  it  the 
genuine  English  words  quixotic  and  quixotism. 

9 


10  FRANQOIS   RABELAIS 

Fra^ois  (frahn-swah')  Rabelais  was  born  about  the  year  1495,  at  the 
village  of  Chinon  (shin-on'),  in  Touraine,  France,  where  his  birthplace  is 
still  pointed  out  to  sight-seers.  He  was  educated  for  the  priesthood,  and 
took  orders  in  the  church.  Leaving  the  Benedictines  without  permission, 
he  studied  medicine  at  Montpellier,  where  there  is  still  shown  a  doctor's 
gown  which  he  wore,  though  much  of  it  has  been  cut  away  in  fragments 
by  relic-hunting  students.  He  practiced  medicine  at  Lyons.  All  this  time 
he  was  pursuing  profound  studies  in  Latin  and  Greek.  At  Lyons,  Rabelais 
wrote  a  story  of  a  giant  whom  he  called  Gargan'tua.  In  1534,  he  published 
a  sequel,  portraying  the  life  of  the  giant's  son,  Pantag'ruel.  He  continued 
to  add  to  the  story  until  1552,  when  he  completed  a  fourth  book  of  Pantag- 
ruel.  He  tardily  obtained  from  the  Pope  a  pardon  for  his  abandonment  of 
the  priesthood.  Afterward  he  continued  to  practice  medicine,  and,  later, 
he  served  again  as  a  priest.  He  died  in  1553. 

Rabelais  wrote  a  number  of  books  of  a  scientific  character.  He  edited 
works  on  medicine,  and  published  an  annual  almanac  for  seventeen  years. 
Van  Laun  says  of  him :  "  Let  it  be  well  understood,  .  .  .  Rabelais  was  in 
his  writings  coarse,  though  never  prurient ; 1  but  in  private  life  he  was  — 
there  is,  at  least,  nothing  to  the  contrary  —  a  -respectable  and  outwardly 
moral  man,  a  consistent  Catholic,  who  preserved  the  respect  of  his  supe- 
riors." 

Rabelais  is  reckoned  one  of  the  four  greatest  prose  writers  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  and  one  of  the  three  greatest  humorists  of  all  literature. 
It  is  not  easy  to  estimate  the  influence  of  his  great  work  upon  society,  and 
especially  upon  education  in  all  the  ages  succeeding  him.  Probably  much 
of  the  advancement  which  we  enjoy  to-day  in  the  school  world  is  owing  to 
the  fact  that  he  set  others  to  thinking  and  acting  for  the  reformation  of  the 
old  school  system,  and  for  the  bringing  in  of  a  better,  happier,  and  more 
fruitful  era  in  the  training  of  children. 

.  Rabelais  is  intensely,  villainously,  obtrusively  coarse.  Strange  fact,  but 
none  the  less  true,  that  this  very  coarseness  of  humor  and  illustration 
obtained  for  him  immunity  from  persecution,  and  secured  for  his  flagella- 
tions a  currency  which  the  most  refined  and  decorous  wit,  the  most  polished 
scholarship,  would  never  have  gained  for  them.  In  his  admirable  chapter 
on  the  education  of  Gargantua,  he  unfolds  to  us  his  own  simple  and  rational 

1  An  important  distinction.  An  author  may  give  expression  to  lewd  thoughts, 
and  lead  the  imagination  to  riot  in  impure  fancies,  while  he  employs  only  the 
most  polished  phrases.  On  the  other  hand,  honest  purpose  and  worthy  thoughts 
may  be  expressed  in  language  disfigured  by  coarseness.  Byron  and  Gibbon  are 
prurient,  at  times,  without  being  coarse.  Burns,  like  Rabelais,  is  sometimes 
coarse,  while  not  prurient.  Of  the  two,  prurience  is  far  more  harmful  than 
coarseness,  in  its  influence  on  the  mind- 


FRANCOIS  RABELAIS  11 

plan  for  the  development  of  a  human  being  from  the  uncorrupted  elements 
of  humanity.  The  mind  and  the  body  are  cultivated  side  by  side,  without 
preference  or  forcing.  The  faculties  and  instincts  of  the  child  and  the 
youth  are  allowed  free  play ;  the  moral  and  physical  qualities  are  expanded 
by  a  healthy  and  well-directed  exercise.  No  hour  of  the  day  was  without 
its  due  provision  of  recreation,  of  relaxation,  or  of  appointed  study. 

—  HENRY  VAN  LAUN. 

Who  has  not  heard  of  the  giant  Grangousier  (grahn-goo-se-a')  and  of  his 
wife  Gargamelle',  and  of  their  son  Gargantua.  The  latter  cries,  on  coming 
into  the  world,  "  Drink  I  Drink ! "  and  gives  proof  of  an  extraordinary  in- 
telligence. His  happy  endowments,  however,  are  scarcely  developed  by  his 
teachers,  Tubal  Holofer'nes  and  Jobelin  Bride  (zhobe-lan'  bre-day') ;  and 
Grangousier,  dissatisfied  with  his  son's  progress,  complains  to  his  friend, 
the  Viceroy  of  Papeligosse,  who  brings  to  him  the  page  Eude'mon,  "so 
neat,  so  trim,  so  handsome  in  his  behavior,  that  he  had  the  resemblance  of 
a  little  angel,  more  than  of  a  human  creature."  Eudemon  speaks  so  well 
in  Latin  to  Grangousier,  that  he  decides  to  give  to  his  son,  for  his  preceptor, 
Ponoc'rates,  the  teacher  of  the  learned  page,  and  sends  them  all  three  to 
Paris,  to  see  what  were  the  studies  of  the  youths  of  France.  Gargantua 
enters  Paris  on  his  enormous  mare,  carries  away  the  bells  from  Notre  Dame 
(cathedral),  fastens  them  to  the  neck  of  his  horse,  and  returns  them  to  the 
Parisians  only  after  a  learned  harangue  of  Master  Jano'tus  de  Bragmar'do. 
Meantime  occurs  the  most  important  part  of  the  work  of  Rabelais,  the 
education  of  Gargantua,  which  the  masters  of  the  old  school  and  the  system 
of  Ponocrates  give  him.  Rabelais  wishes  that  his  pupil  shall  cultivate  his 
body  as  well  as  his  mind,  and  busies  him  with  physical  as  well  as  mental 
exercises.  Probably  this  system  suggested  some  points  to  Montaigne  for 
his  Institution  of  Children,  and  to  Rousseau  for  his.  iZmile  (a-meel'). 

The  son  of  Gargantua  and  of  Badebec  has  many  adventures  which  we 
cannot  mention  here.  We  note  only  some  incidents  of  the  Pantagruel. 
First,  the  criticism  of  the  macaronic 1  language  of  some  writers  of  the 
period,  indicated  by  the  speech  the  Limosin  2  scholar,  who  comes  from  "  the 
inclyte,  and  celebrate  Academy,  which  is  vocitated  Lutetia.  '  Where,1 


1  Macaronic  words  are  formed  by  the  addition  of  terminations  of  one  lan- 
guage to  roots  of  another  language.     Macaronic  compositions,  written  in  bur- 
lesque, contain,  generally,  genuine  words  from  both  languages,  interspersed 
among  the  hybrid  compounds. 

2  Limosin,  or  Limousin  (pronounced  le-moo-san'),  refers  to  an  ancient  divi- 
sion of  France,  from  which  the  pedantic  student  is  supposed  to  have  come. 

8  The  substance  of  the  quotation  is  as  follows :  "  the  nourishing,  lively,  and 
celebrated  resort  of  the  learned  which  is  called  Lute'tia  (the  Latin  name  for 


12  FRANCOIS  RAHELA1S 

says  he,  'we  transfretate  the  Sequan  at  the  dilucal  and  crepuscul ;  we  deam- 
bulate  by  the  compiles  and  quadrives  of  the  ttrfc ;  we  despumate  the  taft'ai 
verbocination :  and,  like  verisimilarie  amorabons,  we  captat  the  benevolence  of 
the  omnijugal,  omniform,  and  omnigenal  feminine  sex.'  " 

We  remark  always  that,  in  spite  of  their  excellent  ideas,  the  three 
educators,  Rabelais,  Montaigne,  and  Rousseau  (roo-so')  have  not  a  suffi- 
ciently practical  system,  since  the  education  which  they  give  to  their  pupil 
can  be  given  only  by  a  particular  preceptor,  and  cannot  be  applied  to  classes 
of  students.1  —  ALCEE  FORTIER. 


THE   EDUCATION  OF  GAKGANTUA  AND  PANTAGRUEL 
I.   How  GARGANTUA  WAS  TAUGHT  LATIN  BY  A  SOPHISTEB 

The  good  man  Grangousier  was  ravished  with  admiration, 
considering  the  high  reach  and  marvelous  understanding  of  his 
son  Gargantua,  and  said  to  his  governesses : 

"Philip,  King  of  Macedon,  knew  the  great  wit  of  his  son 
Alexander  by  his  skillful  managing  of  a  horse  ;  for  his  horse 
Buceph'alus  was  so  fierce  and  unruly  that  none  durst  adventure 
to  ride  him,  after  that  he  had  given  to  his  riders  such  devilish 
falls,  breaking  the  neck  of  this  man,  the  other  man's  leg,  brain- 
ing one,  and  cracking  another's  jawbone.  This  being  consid- 
ered by  Alexander,  one  day  in  the  Hippodrome  (which  was  a 
place  appointed  for  the  breaking  and  managing  of  great  horses) 
he  perceived  that  the  fury  of  the  horse  proceeded  merely  from 
the  fear  he  had  of  his  own  shadow ;  whereupon,  getting  on  his 
back,  he  ran  him  against  the  sun,  so  that  the  shadow  fell  behind, 

Paris).  Where  we  cross  the  Se'quana  (the  Latin  name  for  the  Seine)  at  the 
dawn  and  in  the  evening ;  we  walk  away  by  the  crossings  and  passages  of 
the  city ;  we  throw  out  shouts  from  the  lungs ;  and,  like  true  lovers,  we  win 
the  favor  of  the  feminine  sex,  of  whatever  condition,  appearance,  or  birth." 

1  This  is  the  most  general  criticism  passed  upon  the  system  of  education 
portrayed  by  Rabelais.  If  the  system  were  generally  followed,  the  number  of 
instructors  would  have  to  be  increased  enormously,  and  few  men  of  the  popula- 
tion would  be  left  to  engage  in  other  professions. 


EDUCATION   OF  GAEGANTUA   AND  PANTAGRUEL         13 

and  by  that  means  tamed  the  horse  and  brought  him  to  his 
hand.  Whereby  his  father,  perceiving  his  marvelous  capacity 
and  divine  insight,  caused  him  most  carefully  to  be  instructed 
by  Aristotle,  who  at  that  time  was  highly  renowned  above  all 
the  philosophers  of  Greece.  After  the  same  manner  I  tell  you 
that  by  this  only  discourse,  which  now  I  have  here  had  before 
you  with  my  son  Gargantua,  I  know  that  his  understanding 
doth  participate  of  some  divinity;  and  that  if  he  be  well  taught 
and  have  that  education  which  is  fitting,  he  will  attain  to  a 
supreme  degree  of  wisdom.  Therefore  will  I  commit  him  to 
some  learned  man,  to  have  him  indoctrinated  according  to  his 
capacity,  and  will  spare  no  cost." 

Presently  they  appointed  for  him  a  great  sophister-doctor, 
called  Master  Tubal  Holofernes,1  who  taught  him  his  A  B  C  so 
well  that  he  could  say  it  by  heart  backwards ;  and  about  this 
he  was  five  years  and  three  months.2 

Then  read  he  to  him  Donat,3  Le  Fac'et,  Theod'olet,  and 
Alan'us,  In  Parab'olis.  About  this  he  was  thirteen  years,  six 
months,  and  two  weeks.  But  you  must  remark  that  in  the 
meantime  he  did  learn  to  write  in  Gothic  characters,  and  that 
he  wrote  all  his  books,  for  the  art  of  printing  was  not  then  in 
use ;  and  did  ordinarily  carry  a  great  pen  and  inkhorn,  weigh- 
ing above  seven  thousand  quintals,  the  pen-case  whereof  was  as 
big  and  as  long  as  the  great  pillar  of  Enay ;  and  the  horn  was 
hanged  to  it  in  great  iron  chains,  it  being  of  the  wideness  to 
hold  a  ton  of  merchandise. 

After  that  was  read  unto  him,  the  book  De  Mo'dis  Signifi- 
can'di^  with  the  Commentaries  of  Hurtbise,  of  Fasquin,  of 
Tropditeux,  of  Gaulhault,  of  John  Calf,  of  Billonio,  of  Berlin- 

1  The  name  Holofernes  is  taken  from  The  Book  of  Judith  in  the  Apocrypha. 
The  original  Holofernes  was  a  detestable  tyrant. 

2  Gargantua  was  a  long  time  learning  the  alphabet.     Evidently  his  instructors 
did  not  employ  improved  methods  of  teaching.     Rabelais  appears  to  have  seen 
clearly  the  fruitlessness  of  the  old-time  school  regime. 

8  Here  follow  some  forgotten  old  Latin  books,  utterly  unsuited  to  the  needs 
of  youths. 

4  The  book  De  Modis  Significandi  was  a  treatise  on  modes  of  expression. 


14  FRANCOIS  RABELAIS 

guandus,  and  a  rabble  of  others;  and  herein  he  spent  more 
than  eighteen  years  and  eleven  months,  and  was  so  well  versed 
therein  that,  to  try  masteries  in  school  disputes  with  his  fellow 
pupils,  he  would  recite  it  by  heart  backwards ;  and  did  some- 
times prove  on  his  fingers'  ends  to  his  mother  that  De  Modis 
Significandi  non  erat  sciential  Then  was  read  to  him  the 
Compost,  on  which  he  spent  sixteen  years  and  two  months. 
And  at  that  very  time,  which  was  in  the  year  1420,  his  Pre- 
ceptor died. 

Afterwards  he  got  an  old  coughing  fellow  to  teach  him, 
named  Master  Jobelin  Bride",  who  read  unto  him,  Hugu'tio,2 
Heb'rard,  Gre'cism,  the  Doc'trinal,  the  Pars,  the  Quid  est,  the 
Supplementum,  Marmotretus,  de  Moribus  in  Mensa  Servandis, 
Seneca  de  Quattuor  Virtutibus  Cardinalibus,  Passaventus  cum 
Commento,  and  Dormi  Secure,  for  the  holidays,  and  other  stuff ; 
by  reading  whereof  he  became  as  wise  as  any  we  ever  since 
baked  in  an  oven. 

II.    How  GARGANTUA  WAS  PUT  UNDER  OTHER  SCHOOLMASTERS 

At  last  his  father  perceived  that  indeed  he  studied  hard,  and 
that,  although  he  spent  all  his  time  therein,  yet  for  all  that  he 
did  profit  nothing ;  but,  which,  is  worse,  grew  thereby  a  fool, 
a  sot,  a  dolt,  and  blockhead  ;  whereof  making  a  heavy  com- 
plaint to  Don  Philip  of  Marays,  Viceroy  of  Papeligosse,  he 
found  that  it  were  better  for  his  son  to  learn  nothing  at  all 
than  to  be  taught  such  like  books,  under  such  schoolmasters, 
because  their  knowledge  was  nothing  but  all  trifle,  and  their 
wisdom  foppery,  serving  only  to  bastardize  good  and  noble 
spirits,  and  to  corrupt  the  whole  flower  of  youth. 

"That  it  is  so,"  said  he,  "  any  young  boy  of  this  time  who 
hath  only  studied  two  years,  if  he  have  not  a  better  judgment, 
a  better  discourse,  and  that  expressed  in  better  terms  than  your 

1  That  De  Modis  Signiflcandi  was  not  science. 

2  Here  follow  more  old  Latin  books,  to  satirize  the  courses  of  study  in  the  time 
of  Rabelais. 


EDUCATION   OF  GAEGANTUA  AND  PANTAGRUEL         15 

son,  with  a  completer  carriage  and  civility  to  all  manner  of 
persons,  account  me  forever  hereafter  a  very  clounch,  and  a 
bacon-slicer  of  Brene." 

This  pleased  Grangousier  very  well,  and  he  commanded  that 
it  should  be  done. 

At  night,  at  supper,  the  said  Don  Philip  brought  in  a  young 
page  of  his,  of  Ville-gouges,  called  Eudemon,  so  neat,  so  trim, 
so  handsome  in  his  apparel,  so  spruce,  with  his  hair  in  so  good 
order,  and  so  sweet  and  comely  in  his  behavior,  that  he  had 
the  resemblance  of  a  little  angel  more  than  of  a  human  crea- 
ture. Then  he  said  to  Grangousier: 

"  Do  you  see  this  young  boy  ?  He  is  not  as  yet  full  twelve 
years  old  ;  let  us  try  (if  you  like)  what  difference  there  is 
betwixt  the  knowledge  of  the  useless  dunces  of  old  time  and 
the  young  lads  that  are  now." 

The  trial  pleased  Grangousier,  and  he  commanded  the  page 
to  begin.  Then  Eudemon,  asking  leave  of  the  Viceroy,  his 
master,  so  to  do,  with  his  cap  in  his  hand,  a  clear  and  open 
countenance,  beautiful  and  ruddy  lips,  his  eyes  steady,  and  his 
looks  fixed  upon  Gargantua  with  a  youthful  modesty,  standing 
up  straight  on  his  feet,  began  to  commend  him,  first,  for 
his  virtue  and  good  manners  ;  secondly,  for  his  knowledge  ; 
thirdly,  for  his  nobility ;  fourthly,  for  his  bodily  accomplish- 
ments ;  and  in  the  fifth  place,  most  sweetly  exhorted  him  to  rev- 
erence his  father  with  all  due  observancy,  who  was  so  careful 
to  have  him  well  brought  up.  In  the  end,  he  prayed  him  that 
he  would  vouchsafe  to  admit  him  amongst  the  least  of  his 
servants  ;  for  he  desired  at  that  time  no  other  favor  of  Heaven, 
but  that  he  might  do  to  him  some  grateful  and  acceptable 
service. 

All  this  was  delivered  by  him  with  such  proper  gestures, 
such  distinct  pronunciation,  so  pleasant  a  delivery,  in  such  ex- 
quisite, fine  terms,  and  in  so  good  Latin,  that  he  seemed  rather 
a  Grac'chus,  a  Cic'ero,  an  jEmil'ius  of  the  time  past,  than  a 
youth  of  his  age.  But  all  the  countenance  that  Gargantua  kept 
was,  that  he  fell  to  crying  like  a  cow,  and  cast  down  his  face, 


16  FRANQOIS  RABELAIS 

hiding  it  with  his  cap,  nor  could  they  possibly  draw  one  word 
from  him. 

Whereat  his  father  was  so  grievously  vexed  that  he  would 
have  killed  Master  Jobelin,  but  the  said  Don  Philip  withheld 
him  from  it  by  fair  persuasion,  so  that  at  length  he  pacified  his 
wrath.  Then  Grangousier  commanded  that  he  should  be  paid 
his  wages,  that  they  could  whittle  him  up  soundly,  sophister- 
like,  and  then  give  him  to  all  the  devils. 

"At  least,"  said  he,  "to-day  shall  it  not  cost  him  much  to 
his  host  if  by  chance  he  should  die  as  drunk  as  an  English- 
man." 

Master  Jobelin  being  gone  out  of  the  house,  Grangousier 
consulted  with  the  Viceroy  what  schoolmaster  they  should 
choose  for  him,  and  it  was  betwixt  them  resolved  that  Ponoc- 
rates,  the  tutor  of  Eudemon,  should  have  the  charge,  and  that 
they  should  go  all  together  to  Paris,  to  know  what  was  the 
study  of  the  young  men  of  France  at  that  time. 

III.  How  GARGANTUA  WAS  INSTRUCTED  BY  PONOCRATES,  AND 
IN  SUCH  SORT  DISCIPLINATED  THAT  HE  LOST  NOT  ONE  HOUR 
OF  THE  DAY 

When  Ponocrates  knew  Gargantua's  vicious  manner  of  liv- 
ing, he  resolved  to  bring  him  up  in  another  way ;  but  for  a 
while  bore  with  him,  considering  that  nature  cannot  endure 
a  sudden  change  without  great  violence.  Therefore,  to  begin 
his  work  the  better,  he  requested  a  learned  physician  of  that 
time,  called  Master  Theodore,  seriously  to  perpend,  if  it  were 
possible,  how  to  bring  Gargantua  unto  a  better  course.  The 
said  physician  purged  him  canonically  with  Anticyrian  helle- 
bore,1 by  which  medicine  he  cleansed  all  that  foulness  and  per- 
verse habit  of  his  brain.  By  this  means,  also,  Ponocrates  made 
him  forget  all  that  lie  had  learned  under  his  ancient  preceptors, 

1  Hellebore  (from  Anticyria)  is  used  medicinally  as  a  purgative.  The  word 
is  here  employed  in  a  figurative  sense. 


EDUCATION   OF  GARGANTUA   AND  PANTAGRUEL         17 

as  Timotheus  did  to  his  scholars  who  had  been  instructed  under 
other  musicians. 

To  do  this  the  better,  they  brought  him  into  the  company 
of  learned  men,  which  stirred  in  him  an  emulation  and  desire 
to  whet  his  wit  and  improve  his  parts,  and  to  bend  his  study 
another  way,  so  as  that  the  world  might  have  a  value  for  him. 
And  afterwards  he  put  himself  into  such  a  road  that  he  lost 
not  any  one  hour  in  the  day,  but  employed  all  his  time  in  learn- 
ing and  honest  knowledge. 

Gargantua  awaked  about  four  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
Whilst  they  were  in  rubbing  of  him,  there  was  read  unto  him 
some  chapter  of  the  Holy  Scriptures  aloud  and  clearly,  with  a 
pronunciation  fit  for  the  matter ;  and  hereunto  was  appointed 
a  young  page,  born  in  Basche",  named  Anagnos'tes.  According 
to  the  purpose  and  argument  of  that  lesson,  he  oftentimes  gave 
himself  to  worship,  adore,  pray,  and  send  up  his  supplications 
to  that  good  God  whose  word  did  show  His  majesty  and  mar- 
velous judgment.1  Then  his  master  repeated  what  had  been 
read,  expounding  unto  him  the  most  obscure  and  difficult 
points.  In  returning,  they  considered  the  face  of  the  sky,  if 
it  were  such  as  they  had  observed  it  the  night  before,  and  into 
what  Signs  the  sun  was  entering,  as  also  the  moon,  for  that 
day.  This  done,  he  was  appareled,  combed,  curled,  trimmed, 
and  perfumed,  during  which  time  they  repeated  to  him  the  les- 
sons of  the  day  before  ;  and  he  himself  said  them  by  heart,  and 
upon  them  would  ground  some  practical  cases  concerning  the 
estate  of  man,  which  he  would  prosecute  sometimes  two  or 
three  hours  ;  but  ordinarily  they  ceased  as  soon  as  he  was  fully 
clothed. 

Then  for  three  good  hours  he  had  a  lecture  read  unto  him  ; 
this  done,  they  went  forth,  still  conferring  on  the  substance  of 
the  lecture,  either  unto  a  field 2  near  the  University,  called  the 

1  The  author  intends  no  burlesque  in  his  description  of  the  youth's  morning 
devotions,  nor,  indeed,  in  the  descriptions  which  follow  in  the  account  of  the 
day's  employments. 

2  Rabelais  was  a  firm  believer  in  the  physical  training  of  youths. 

8CH.  IN  COM.  —  2 


18  FRANQOIS  RABELAIS 

Brack,  or  unto  the  meadows,  where  they  played  at  the  ball, 
tennis,  and  at  the  trigon,  most  gallantly  exercising  their  bodies, 
as  before  they  had  done  their  minds.  All  their  play  was  but 
in  liberty,  for  they  left  off  when  they  pleased,  and  that  was 
commonly  when  they  did  sweat  over  all  their  body  or  were 
otherwise  weary. 

Then  were  they  very  well  wiped  and  rubbed,  shifted  their 
shirts,  and,  walking  soberly,  went  to  see  if  dinner  was  ready. 
Whilst  they  stayed  for  that,  they  did  clearly  and  eloquently 
pronounce  some  sentences  that  they  had  retained  of  the  lecture. 
In  the  meantime,  Master  Appetite  came,  and  then  very  orderly 
sat  they  down  at  table.  At  the  beginning  of  the  meal  there 
was  read  some  pleasant  history  of  the  warlike  actions  of  former 
times,  until  he  had  taken  a  glass  of  wine.  Then  (if  they 
thought  good)  they  continued  reading,  or  began  to  discourse 
merrily  together,  speaking  first  of  the  virtue,  propriety,  efficacy, 
and  nature  of  all  that  was  served  in  at  the  table  ;  of  bread,  of 
wine,  of  water,  of  salt,  of  fleshes,  fishes,  fruits,  herbs,  roots,  and 
of  their  dressing  ;  by  means  whereof  he  learned,  in  a  little  time, 
all  the  passages  appropriate  for  this 1  that  were  to  be  found  in 
Plin'y,  Athense'us,  Dioscor'ides,  Julius  Pol'lux,  Ga'len,  Por'- 
phyry,  Op'pien,  Polyb'ius,  Heliodo'rus,  Aristo'tle,  E'lian,  and 
others. 

Whilst  they  talked  of  these  things  many  times,  to  be  more 
certain,  they  caused  the  very  books  to  be  brought  to  the  table. 
And  so  well  and  perfectly  did  he  in  his  memory  retain  the 
things  above  said,  that  in  those  days  there  was  not  a  physician 
that  knew  half  so  much  as  he  did.  Afterwards  they  conferred 
of  the  lessons  read  in  the  morning ;  and  ending  their  repast 
with  some  conserve  or  marmalade  of  quinces,  he  picked  his 
teeth  with  mastic  tooth-pickers,  washed  his  hands  and  eyes 
with  fair,  fresh  water,  and  gave  thanks  unto  God  in  some  neat 
livinn,  made  in  the  praise  of  the  Divine  bounty  and  munificence. 

1  Rabelais  does  not  discourage  an  acquaintance  with  extracts  from  classic 
authors.  What  he  holds  up  to  ridicule  is  the  over-loading  of  the  mind  with 
laborious  detail. 


EDUCATION   OF  GARGANTUA   AND  PANTAGRUEL         19 

This  done,  they  brought  in  cards ;  not  to  play,  but  to  learn 
a  thousand  petty  tricks  and  new  inventions,  which  were  all 
grounded  upon  arithmetic. 

By  this  means  he  fell  in  love  with  that  numerical  science  ; 
and  every  day,  after  dinner  and  supper,  he  passed  his  time  in 
it  as  pleasantly  as  he  was  wont  to  do  at  cards  and  dice  ;  so  that, 
at  last,  he  understood  so  well  both  the  theory  and  practical 
part  thereof,  that  Tunstal,  the  Englishman,  who  had  written 
very  largely  to  that  purpose,  confessed  that,  verily,  in  com- 
parison of  him,  he  understood  no  more  High  Dutch. 

And  not  only  in  that,  but  in  the  other  mathematical  sciences, 
as  geometry,  astronomy,  and  music.  For,  in  waiting  on  the 
concoction  and  attending  the  digestion  of  his  food,  they  made 
a  thousand  pretty  instruments  and  geometrical  figures,  and  did 
in  some  measure  practice  the  astronomical  canons. 

After  this  they  recreated  themselves  with  singing  musically, 
in  four  or  five  parts,1  or  upon  a  set  theme  or  ground  at  random 
as  it  best  pleased  them;  in  matter  of  musical  instruments  he 
learned  to  play  upon  the  flute,  the  virginals,  the  harp,  the 
flute  with  nine  holes,  the  viol,  and  the  sackbut.  This  hour 
thus  spent,  and  digestion  finished,  he  then  betook  himself  to 
his  principal  study  for  three  hours  together  or  more,  as  well 
to  repeat  his  morning  lectures,  as  to  proceed  in  the  book  he 
had  in  hand,  as  also  to  write  handsomely,  to  draw  and  form 
the  antique  and  Roman  letters. 

This  being  done,  they  went  abroad,  and  with  them  a  young 
gentleman  of  Touraine  named  the  Esquire  Gymnast,  who 
taught  him  the  art  of  riding.  Changing,  then,  his  clothes,  he 
rode  a  Naples  courser,  a  Dutch  stallion,  a  Spanish  genet,  a 
barded  or  trapped  steed,  then  a  light  fleet  horse  which  he 
gave  a  hundred  races,  made  him  do  the  high  leaps,  bound- 
ing in  the  air,  free  the  ditch  with  a  skip,  leap  over  a  stile 
or  pail,  turn  short  in  a  ring,  both  to  the  right  and  left  hand. 


1  Rabelais  appreciated  the  value  of  a  musical  education.     The  value  of  music 
in  the  home  and  in  the  school  is  not  likely  to  be  overestimated. 


20  FRANCOIS  RABELAIS 

There  he  broke  not  his  lance;  for  it  is  the  greatest  foolery  in 
the  world  to  say, "  I  have  broken  ten  lances  at  tilt,  or  in  fight ; ' ' 
a  carpenter  can  do  even  as  much:  but  it  is  a  glorious  and 
praiseworthy  action,  with  one  lance  to  break  and  overthrow  ten 
enemies;  therefore  with  a  sharp,  stiff,  strong,  and  well-steeled 
lance  would  he  usually  force  up  a  door,  pierce  a  harness,  beat 
down  a  tree,  carry  away  the  ring,  lift  up  a  cuirassier  saddle, 
with  the  mail  coat  and  gauntlet.  All  this  he  did  in  complete 
armor,  from  head  to  foot.1 

As  for  the  prancing  flourishes  and  smacking  displays  for 
the  better  cherishing  of  the  horse  commonly  used  in  riding, 
none  did  them  better  than  he.  The  great  vaulter  of  Ferrara 
was  but  an  ape  compared  to  him.  He  was  singularly  skillful 
in  leaping  nimbly  from  one  horse  to  another  without  putting 
foot  to  ground,  and  these  horses  were  called  desultories ;  he 
could  likewise,  from  either  side,  with  a  lance  in  his  hand,  leap 
on  horseback  without  stirrups,  and  rule  the  horse  at  his  pleasure 
without  a  bridle,  for  such  things  are  useful  in  military  engage- 
ments. Another  day  he  exercised  the  battle-ax,  which  he  so 
dexterously  wielded  both  in  the  nimble,  strong,  and  smooth 
management  of  that  weapon,  and  in  all  the  feats  practiceable 
by  it,  that  he  passed  knight  of  arms  in  the  field,  and  at  all 
essays. 

Then  tossed  he  the  pike,  played  with  the  two-handed  sword, 
with  the  back-sword,  with  the  Spanish  tuck,  the  dagger, 
poniard,  armed  or  unarmed,  with  a  buckler,  with  a  cloak,  with 
a  target. 

Then  would  he  hunt  the  hart,  the  roebuck,  the  bear,  the 
fallow  deer,  the  wild  boar,  the  hare,  the  pheasant,  the  par- 
tridge, and  the  bustard.  He  played  at  the  balloon,  and  made 
it  bound  in  the  air,  both  with  fist  and  foot. 

He  wrestled,  ran,  jumped,  not  at  three  steps  and  a  leap,  nor 
at  the  hare's  leap,  nor  yet  at  the  almanes ; 2  ".for,"  said  Gym- 

1  Greater  value  was  attached  to  feats  of  personal  prowess  in  the  old  time  than 
at  the  present  day. 

2  A  jumping  or  dancing  exercise,  borrowed  from  the  Germans. 


EDUCATION  OF  GARGANTUA  AND  PANTAGRUEL        21 

nasy,  "these  jumps  are  altogether  unprofitable  for  the  wars, 
and  of  no  use;  "  but  at* one  leap  he  would  skip  over  a  ditch, 
spring  over  a  hedge,  mount  six  paces  upon  a  wall,  ramp  and 
grapple  after  this  fashion  up  against  a  window,  of  the  full 
height  of  a  lance. 

He  did  swim  in  deep  waters  on  his  belly,  on  his  back,  side- 
ways, with  all  his  body,  with  his  feet  only,  with  one  hand  in 
the  air,  wherein  he  held  a  book,  crossing  thus  the  breadth  of  the 
River  Seine  without  wetting  it,  and  dragged  along  his  cloak 
with  his  teeth,  as  did  Julius  Caesar;  J  then,  with  the  help  of 
one  hand,  he  entered  forcibly  into  a  boat,  from  whence  he  cast 
himself  again  headlong  into  the  water,  sounded  the  depths, 
hollowed  the  rocks,  and  plunged  into  the  pits  and  gulfs. 
Then  turned  he  the  boat  about,  governed  it,2  led  it  swiftly  or 
slowly,  with  the  stream  and  against  the  stream,  stopped  it  in 
its  course,  guided  it  with  one  hand,  and  with  the  other  laid 
hard  about  him  with  a  huge  great  oar,  hoisted  the  sail,  hied  up 
along  the  mast  by  the  shrouds,  ran  upon  the  edge  of  the  decks, 
set  the  compass  in  order,  tackled  the  bowlines  and  steered  the 
helm. 

Coming  out  of  the  water,  he  ran  furiously  up  against  a  hill, 
and  with  the  same  alacrity  and  swiftness  ran  down  again;  he 
climbed  up  trees  like  a  cat,  and  leaped  from  one  to  the  other 
like  a  squirrel ;  he  did  pull  down  the  great  boughs  and  branches 
like  another  Mi'lo;  then  with  two  sharp,  well-steeled  daggers 
and  two  tried  bodkins,  would  he  run  up  by  the  wall  to  the  very 
top  of  a  house,  like  a  rat;  then  suddenly  come  down  from  the 
top  to  the  bottom,  with  such  an  even  composition  of  members 
that  by  the  fall  he  would  catch  no  harm. 

He  did  cast  the  dart,  throw  the  bar,  put  the  stone,  practice 
the  javelin,  the  boar-spear,  or  partisan,  and  the  halbert;  he 


1  Caesar  saved  himself  from  capture  at  Alexandria  by  swimming.    Unwilling 
to  cast  away  a  manuscript  of  his  writings,  which  he  had  with  him,  he  held  it 
out  of  the  water  with  one  hand,  and  swam  with  one  arm. 

2  Evidently  Rabelais  regarded  swimming  and  boating  as  an  important  part  ol 
the  physical  education  of  a  youth. 


22  FRANCOIS  RABELAIS 

broke  the  strongest  bows  in  drawing,  bended  against  his  breast 
the  greatest  crossbows  of  steel,  took  iiis  aim  by  the  eye  with 
the  hand-gun,  and  shot  well,  traversed  and  planted  the  cannon, 
shot  at  targets,  at  flying  pigeons  from  below  upwards,  from 
above  downwards,  then  before  him,  sideways,  and  behind  him 
like  the  Par'thians. 

They  tied  a  cable  rope  to  the  top  of  a  high  tower,  by  one 
end  whereof,  hanging  near  the  ground,  he  wrought  himself 
with  his  hands  to  the  very  top  ;  then  upon  the  same  track 
came  down  so  sturdily  and  firm  that  they  could  not,  on  a  plain 
meadow,  have  run  with  more  assurance.  They  set  up  a  great 
pole,  fixed  upon  two  trees.  There  he  would  hang  by  his  hands, 
and  with  them  alone,  his  feet  touching  at  nothing,  would  go 
back  and  forth  along  the  aforesaid  rope,  with  so  great  swiftness 
that  hardly  could  one  overtake  him  with  running;  and  then, 
to  exercise  his  breast  and  lungs,  he  would  shout  like  all  the 
devils.  I  heard  him  once  call  Eudemon  from  St.  Victor's  gate 
to  Montmartre;  Stentor  had  never  such  a  voice  at  the  siege  of 
Troy. 

Then,  for  the  strengthening  of  his  nerves  or  sinews,  they 
made  him  two  great  sows  of  lead,  each  of  them  weighing 
eight  thousand  and  seven  hundred  quintals,  which  they  called 
alteres;  those  he  took  up  from  the  ground,  in  each  hand  one, 
then  lifted  them  up  over  his  head,  and  held  them  without 
stirring,  three  quarters  of  an  hour  or  more,  which  was  an 
inimitable  force. 

He  fought  at  barriers  with  the  stoutest  and  most  vigorous 
champions;  and  when  it  came  to  the  cope,  he  stood  so  sturdily 
on  his  feet  that  he  abandoned  himself  to  the  strongest,  in  case 
they  could  remove  him  from  his  place,  as  Milo  was  wont  to  do 
of  old;  in  whose  imitation,  likewise,  he  held  a  pomegranate 
in  his  hand,  to  give  it  unto  him  that  could  take  it  from  him. 
The  time  being  thus  bestowed,  and  himself  rubbed,  cleansed, 
wiped,  and  refreshed  with  other  clothes,  he  returned  fair  and 
softly,  and,  passing  through  certain  meadows  or  other  grassy 
places,  beheld  the  trees  and  plants,  comparing  them  with 


EDUCATION   OF  GARGANTUA  AND  PANTAGRUEL         23 

what  is  written  of  them  in  the  books 1  of  the  ancients,  such  as 
The'ophrast,  Dioscor'ides,  Mari'nus,  Plin'y,  Nican'der,  Ma'cer, 
and  Ga'len,  and  carried  home  to  the  house  great  handfuls  of 
them,  whereof  a  young  page  called  Rhizotomos  had  charge; 
together  with  the  little  mattocks,  pickaxes,  grubbing  hooks, 
hoes,  pruning  knives,  and  other  instruments  requisite  for 
gardening. 

Being  come  to  their  lodging  whilst  supper  was  making  ready, 
they  repeated  certain  passages  of  that  which  had  been  read,  and 
then  seated  themselves  at  table.  Here  remark  that  his  dinner 
was  sober  and  thrifty,  for  he  did  then  eat  only  to  prevent  the 
gnawings  of  his  stomach;  but  his  supper  was  copious  and 
large,  for  he  took  then  as  much  as  was  fit  to  maintain  and 
nourish  him;  which,  indeed,  is  the  true  diet  prescribed  by  the 
art  of  good  and  sound  physic,  although  a  rabble  of  logger- 
headed  physicians,  nuzzled  in  the  brabbling  shop  of  sophisters, 
counsel  the  contrary.2  During  that  repast  was  continued  the 
lesson  read  at  dinner,  as  long  as  they  thought  good;  the  rest 
was  spent  in  good  discourse,  learned  and  profitable. 

After  they  had  given  thanks,  he  set  himself  to  sing  vocally 
and  play  upon  harmonious  instruments,  or  otherwise  passed 
his  time  at  some  pretty  sports,  made  with  cards  or  dice,  or 
in  practicing  the  feats  of  legerdemain,  with  cups  and  balls. 
There  they  stayed  some  nights  in  frolicking  thus,  and  mak- 
ing themselves  merry  till  it  was  time  to  go  to  bed;  and  on 
other  nights  they  would  go  make  visits  unto  learned  men, 
or  to  such  as  had  been  travelers  in  strange  and  remote  coun- 
tries. 

When  it  was  full  night,  before  they  retired  themselves,  they 
went  unto  the  most  open  place  of  the  house  to  see  the  face  of 


1  Rabelais  saw  the  importance  of  studying  the  plants  themselves,  and  was  not 
satisfied  with  mere  "  book"  botany. 

2  Rabelais  thus  holds  that  the  principal  meal  of  the  day  —  the  real  dinner  — 
should  be  eaten  at  the  close  of  the  day,  and  this  in  opposition  to  the  physicians 
of  his  time.    This  practice  is  almost  universal  in  large  cities  at  the  present  day, 
and  is  growing  in  favor  everywhere. 


24  FRANQOIS  RABELAIS 

the  sky,  and  there  beheld  the  comets,  if  any  were,  as  likewise 
the  figures,  situations,  aspects,  opposition,  and  conjunctions  of 
both  fixed  stars  and  planets. 

Then  with  his  master  did  he  briefly  recapitulate,  after  the 
manner  of  the  Pythago'reans,  that  which  he  had  read,  seen, 
learned,  done,  and  understood,  in  the  whole  course  of  that 
day. 

Then  prayed  they  unto  God  the  Creator,  falling  down  before 
Him,  and  strengthening  their  faith  towards  Him,  and  glorify- 
ing Him  for  His  boundless  bounty;  and  giving  thanks  to  Him 
for  the  time  that  was  past,  they  recommended  themselves  to 
His  Divine  clemency  for  the  future,  which  being  done,  they 
went  to  bed  and  betook  themselves  to  their  repose. 

IV.    How  GARGANTUA  SPENT  HIS  TIME  IN  RAINY  WEATHER 

If  it  happened  that  the  weather  was  anything  cloudy,  foul, 
and  rainy,  all  the  forenoon  was  employed  as  before  specified, 
according  to  custom,  with  this  difference  only,  that  they  had 
a  good  clear  fire  lighted,  to  correct  the  distempers  of  the  air; 
but  after  dinner,  instead  of  their  wonted  exercitations,  they 
did  abide  within,  and,  by  way  of  amusement,  did  recreate 
themselves  in  bottling  of  hay,  in  cleaving  and  sawing  of  wood, 
and  in  threshing  sheaves  of  corn  at  the  barn. 

Then  they  studied  the  art  of  painting  or  carving,  or  brought 
into  use  the  antique  (ancient)  play  of  Tables,  as  Leon'icus  has 
written  of  it  and  as  our  good  friend  Las'caris  playeth  at  it. 
In  playing,  they  examined  the  passages  of  ancient  authors 
wherein  the  said  play  is  mentioned,  or  any  metaphor  drawn 
from  it.  They  went  likewise  to  see  the  drawing  of  metals  l 
or  the  casting  of  great  ordnance;  how  the  lapidaries  did 
work,  as  also  the  goldsmiths,  and  cutters  of  precious  stones; 

1  Rabelais  appreciated  the  value  of  a  knowledge  of  the  useful  arts  and  an 
acquaintance  with  the  various  forms  of  industry  of  his  time,  as  a  part  of  a  lib- 
eral education.  Such  knowledge  had  been  looked  upon  with  contempt  by  young 
gentlemen  of  fortune. 


EDUCATION  OF  GARGANTUA  AND  PANTAGRUEL        25 

nor  did  they  omit  to  visit  the  alchemists,  money-coiners, 
upholsterers,  weavers,  velvet-workers,  watchmakers,  looking- 
glass  framers,  printers,  organists,  dyers,  and  other  such  kind 
of  artificers,  and,  everywhere  giving  them  somewhat  to  drink, 
did  learn  and  consider  the  industry  and  invention  of  the 
trade. 

They  went  also  to  hear  the  public  lectures,  the  solemn  com- 
mencements, the  repetitions,  the  acclamations,  the  pleadings 
of  the  lawyers,  and  sermons  of  evangelical  preachers. 

He  went  through  the  halls  and  places  appointed  for  fencing, 
and  there  played  against  the  masters  themselves  at  all  weapons, 
and  showed  them  by  experience  that  he  knew  as  much  in  it  as 
(yea  more  than)  they;  and  instead  of  simpling,  they  visited 
the  shops  of  druggists,  herbalists,  and  apothecaries,  and  dili- 
gently considered  the  fruits,  roots,  leaves,  gums,  seeds,  the 
grease  and  ointments  of  some  foreign  parts,  as  also  how  they 
adulterate  them  (i,e.  all  the  said  drugs). 

He  went  to  see  the  jugglers,  tumblers,  mountebanks,  and 
quacksalvers,  and  considered  their  cunning,  their  shifts,  their 
somersaults,  and  smooth  tongue,  especially  of  those  of  Chauny, 
in  Picardy,  who  are  naturally  great  praters,  and  will  banter 
and  lie  as  fast  as  a  dog  can  trot. 

Being  returned  home,  they  did  eat  at  supper  more  soberly 
than  at  other  times;  and  meats  more  desiccative  and  extenu- 
ating, to  the  end  that  the  intemperate  moisture  of  the  air,  com- 
municated to  the  body  by  a  necessary  confinity,  might  by  this 
means  be  corrected,  and  that  they  might  not  receive  any  prej- 
udice for  want  of  their  ordinary  bodily  exercise. 

Thus  was  Gargantua  governed  and  kept  on  in  this  course 
of  education,  from  day  to  day  profiting,  as  you  understand 
such  a  young  man  of  his  age  and  good  sense  so  kept  to  his 
exercise  may  well  do  ;  which,  although  at  the  beginning  it 
seemed  difficult,  became  a  little  after  so  sweet,  so  easy,  and 
so  delightful,  that  it  seemed  rather  the  recreation  of  a  King 
than  the  study  of  a  scholar. 

Nevertheless  Ponocrates,  to  divert  him  from   his  vehement 


26  FRANCOIS  RABELAIS 

tension  of  the  spirits,  thought  fit  once  in  a  month,1  upon  some 
fair  and  clear  day,  to  go  out  in  the  city  betimes  in  the  morn- 
ing, either  towards  Gentilly  or  Boulogne,  or  to  Montrouge  or 
Charentonbridge,  or  to  Vanves  or  St.  Cloud,  and  there  spend 
all  the  day  long  in  making  the  greatest  cheer  that  could  be 
devised,  sporting,  making  merry,  drinking  healths,  playing, 
singing,  dancing,  tumbling  in  some  fair  meadow,  unnestling 
of  sparrows,  taking  of  quails,  and  fishing  for  frogs  and 
crabs. 

But  although  that  day  was  passed  without  books  or  lecture, 
yet  was  it  not  spent  without  profit;  for  in  the  said  meadows 
they  usually  repeated  certain  pleasant  verses  of  Ver'gil's  Agri- 
culture, of  He'siod,  and  of  Poli'tian's  Husbandry,  would  set 
abroach  some  witty  Latin  epigrams,  then  immediately  turned 
them  into  roundelays  and  songs  in  the  French  language.  In 
their  feasting  they  would  sometimes  separate  the  water  from 
the  wine  that  was  therewith  mixed,  as  Ca'to  teacheth  De  Re 
Rustica;  and  Pliny,  with  an  ivy  cup,  could  wash  the  wine  in 
a  basin  full  of  water,  then  take  it  out  again  with  a  funnel  as 
pure  as  ever.  They  made  the  water  go  from  one  glass  to 
another,  and  contrived  a  thousand  little  automatic  engines. 

V.    A  LETTER  FROM  GARGANTUA  TO  HIS  SON  PANTAGRUEL 


That  which  I  now  write  unto  thee  is  not  so  much  that  thou 
shouldst  live  in  this  virtuous  course,  as  that  thou  shouldst 
rejoice  in  so  living,  and,  having  lived,  cheer  up  thyself  with 
the  like  resolution  in  time  to  come.  To  the  prosecution  and 
accomplishment  of  which  enterprise  and  generous  undertak- 
ing, thou  mayst  easily  remember  how  that  I  have  spared  noth- 
ing, but  have  so  helped  thee  as  if  I  had  had  no  other  treasure 
in  this  world  but  to  see  thee  once  in  my  life  completely  well- 

1  Rabelais  was  a  believer  in  frequent  and  short  vacations.  The  "  drinking 
healths"  which  he  recommends  was  the  universal  custom  of  his  time,  and, 
doubtless,  he  was  unconscious  of  any  impropriety  in  this  diversion. 


EDUCATION   OF  GARGANTUA  AND  PANTAGRUEL         27 

bred  and  accomplished,  as  well  in  virtue,  honesty,  and  valor, 
as  in  all  liberal  knoAvledge  and  civility  ;  and  so  to  leave  thee 
after  my  death,  as  a  mirror,  representing  the  person  of  me  thy 
father ;  and  if  not  so  excellent,  and  such  indeed  as  I  do  wish 
th'ee,  yet  such  in  desire. 

But  although  my  deceased  father,  of  happy  memory,  Gran- 
gousier,  had  bent  his  best  endeavors  to  make  me  profit  in  all 
perfection  and  political  knowledge,  and  that  my  labor  and 
study  was  fully  correspondent  to,  yea,  went  beyond,  his 
desire,  nevertheless,  as  thou  mayst  well  understand,  the  time 
then  was  not  so  proper  and  fit  for  learning  as  it  is  at  present, 
neither  had  I  plenty  of  such  good  masters  as  thou  hast  had ; 
for  that  time  was  darksome,  obscured  with  clouds  of  igno- 
rance, and  savoring  a  little  of  the  infelicity  and  calamity  of  the 
Goths,  who  had,  wherever  they  set  footing,  destroyed  all 
good  literature,  which  in  my  age  hath  by  the  Divine  goodness 
been  restored  unto  its  former  light  and  dignity,  and  that  with 
such  amendment  and  increase  of  knowledge  that  now  hardly 
should  I  be  admitted  upon  to  the  first  form  of  the  little  gram- 
mar-school boys.  I  say  I,  who  in  my  youthful  days  was  (and 
that  justly)  reputed  the  most  learned  of  that  age. 

Which  I  do  not  speak  in  vain  boasting,  although  I  might 
lawfully  do  it  in  writing  unto  thee,  by  the  authority  of  Marcus 
Tul'lius  in  his  book  of  Old  Age,  and  the  sentence  of  Plutarch 
in  the  book  entitled  How  a  Man  may  raise  himself  without 
Envy,  but  to  give  thee  an  emulous  encouragement  to  strive 
yet  farther. 

Now  it  is l  that  the  minds  of  men  are  qualified  with  all 
manner  of  discipline,  and  the  old  sciences  revived,  which  for 
many  ages  were  extinct ;  now  it  is  that  the  learned  languages 
are  to  their  pristine  purity  restored  —  viz.  Greek  (without 
which  a  man  may  be  ashamed  to  account  himself  a  scholar), 
Hebrew,  Arabic,  Chaldean,  and  Latin.  Printing,  likewise,  is 

1  Gargantua  wishes  to  impress  upon  his  son  the  great  advantages  which  the 
invention  of  printing  had  brought,  and  the  responsibility  of  those  who,  having 
these  advantages,  do  not  improve  them. 


28  FRANCOIS  BASEL AI8 

now  in  use,  so  elegant,  and  so  correct,  that  better  cannot  be 
imagined,  although  it  was  fou  1  out  in  my  time  but  by  divine 
inspiration  ;  as,  by  a  diabolic;  suggestion,  on  the  other  side, 
was  the  invention  of  ordna]  ;e.  All  the  world  is  full  of 
knowing  men,  of  most  learned  3hoolmasters,  and  vast  libraries  ; 
and  it  appears  to  me  as  a  tn  h  that  neither  in  Plato's  time, 
nor  Cicero's,  nor  Papin'ian's,  rhere  was  ever  such  conveniency 
for  studying,  as  we  see  at  this  day  there  is.  Nor  must  any 
adventure  henceforward  to  come  in  public  or  represent  himself 
in  company  that  hath  not  been  pretty  well  polished  in  the 
shop  of  Minerva.  I  see  robbers,  hangmen,  freebooters,  tap- 
sters, hostlers,  and  such  like,  of  the  very  rubbish  of  the  people, 
more  learned  now  than  the  doctors  and  preachers  were  in  my 
time. 

What  shall  I  say?  The  very  women  and  children  have 
aspired  to  this  praise  and  celestial  manna  of  good  learning  ; 
yet  so  it  is,  that  at  the  age  I  am  now  of,  I  have  been  con- 
strained to  learn  the  Greek  tongue,  which  I  contemned  not 
like  Cato,  but  had  not  the  leisure  in  my  younger  years  to 
attend  the  study  of  it.  And  I  take  much  delight  in  the  read- 
ing of  Plutarch's  morals,  the  pleasant  dialogues  of  Plato,  the 
monuments  of  Pausa'nias,  and  the  antiquities  of  Athenoe'us, 
whilst  I  wait  the  hour  wherein  God,  my  Creator,  shall  call  me, 
and  command  me  to  depart  from  this  earth  and  transitory 
pilgrimage.  Wherefore,  my  son,  I  admonish  thee  to  employ 
thy  youth  to  profit  as  well  as  thou  canst,  both  in  thy  studies 
and  in  virtue.  Thou  art  at  Paris,  where  the  laudable  examples 
of  many  brave  men  may  stir  up  thy  mind  to  many  gallant 
actions  ;  and  hast,  likewise,  for  thy  tutor  the  learned  Episte'- 
mon,  who  by  his  lively  and  vocal  documents  may  instruct  thee 
in  the  arts  and  sciences. 

I  intend,  and  will  have  it  so,  that  thou  learn  the  languages 
perfectly.  First  of  all,  the  Greek,  as  Quintil'ian  will  have  it ; 
secondly,  the  Latin  ;  and  then  the  Hebrew,  for  the  Holy  Scrip- 
tures' sake.  And  then  the  Chaldee  and  Arabic  likewise.  And 
that  thou  frame  thy  style  in  Greek,  in  imitation  of  Plato  ;  and 


.  rt«  fttu 

EDUCATION  OF  GARGANTUA^Am)  PANTAGBUEL 


29 


for  the  Latin,  after  Cicero.  Let  there  be  no  history  which 
thou  shalt  not  have  ready  in  thy  memory  ;  and  to  help  thee 
therein,  the  books  of  cosmography  will  be  very  conducible. 
Of  the  liberal  arts  of  geometry,  arithmetic,  and  music,  I  gave 
thee  some  taste  when  thou  wert  yet  little,  and  not  above  five 
or  six  years  old  ;  proceed  further  in  them  and  learn  the  re- 
mainder if  thou  canst.  As  for  astronomy,  study  all  the  rules 
thereof  ;  let  pass,  nevertheless,  the  divining  and  judicial  astrol- 
ogy, and  the  art  of  Lullius,  as  being  nothing  else  but  plain 
cheats  and  vanities.  As  for  the  civil  law,  of  that  I  would  have 
thee  to  know  the  texts  by  heart,  and  then  to  confer  them  with 
philosophy.1 

Now  in  the  matter  of  the  knowledge  of  the  works  of  nature, 
I  would  have  thee  to  study  that  exactly  ;  so  that  there  be  no 
sea,  river,  or  fountain  of  which  thou  dost  not  know  the  fishes  ; 
<ill  the  fowls  of  the  air,  all  the  several  kinds  of  shrubs  and 
trees,  whether  in  forest  or  orchard  ;  all  the  sorts  of  herbs  and 
flowers  that  grow  upon  the  ground,  and  the  various  metals 
that  are  hid  within  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  together  with  all 
the  diversity  of  precious  stones  that  are  to  be  seen  in  the  orient 
and  south  parts  of  the  world.  Let  nothing  of  all  these  be 
hidden  from  thee.  Then  fail  not  most  carefully  to  peruse  the 
books  of  the  Greek,  Arabian,  and  Latin  physicians,  not  de- 
spising the  Talmudists  and  Cabalists,  and  by  frequent  anat- 
omies get  thee  the  perfect  knowledge  of  the  microcosm,  which 
is  man.  And  at  some  hours  of  the  day  apply  thy  mind  to  the 
study  of  the  Holy  Scriptures  ;  first  in  Greek,  the  New  Testa- 
ment with  the  Epistles  of  the  Apostles,  and  then  the  Old 
Testament  in  Hebrew. 

In  brief,  let  me  see  thee  an  abyss  and  bottomless  pit  of 
knowledge  ;  for  from  henceforward,  as  thou  growest  great  and 


1  The  scheme  of  higher  education  which  Gargantua  lays  down  is  not  practica- 
ble in  our  day  of  specialization  of  studies.  It  is  no  longer  possible  for  any  man 
to  excel  in  all  branches  of  science  and  literature.  The  field  of  study  and  in- 
vestigation has  grown  too  large  for  this.  Only  in  special  lines  of  post-graduate 
study  can  the  scholarly  investigator  employ  his  years  to  the  best  advantage. 


30  FRANCOIS  RABELAIS 

becomest  a  man,  thou  must  part  from  this  tranquillity  and  rest 
of  study.  Thou  must  learn  chivalry,  warfare,  and  the  exercise 
of  the  field,  the  better  thereby  to  defend  thy  house  and  our 
friends,  and  to  succor  and  protect  them  at  all  their  needs 
against  the  invasions  and  assaults  of  evil-doers. 

Furthermore,  I  will  that  very  shortly  thou  try  how  much 
thou  hast  profited,  which  thou  canst  not  better  do  than  by 
maintaining  publicly  theses  and  conclusions  in  all  arts,  against 
all  persons  whatsoever,  and  by  haunting  the  company  of  learned 
men,  both  at  Paris  and  otherwhere.  But  because,  as  the  wise 
man  Solomon  saith,  wisdom  entereth  not  into  a  malicious  mind, 
and  that  science  without  conscience  is  but  the  ruin  of  the  soul, 
it  behoveth  thee  to  serve,  to  love,  to  fear  God,  and  on  Him  to 
cast  all  thy  thoughts  and  all  thy  hope ;  and,  by  faith,  formed 
in  charity,  to  cleave  unto  Him,  so  that  thou  mayst  never  be 
separated  from  Him  by  thy  sins.  Suspect  the  abuses  of  the 
world  ;  set  not  thy  heart  upon  vanity,  for  this  life  is  transitory, 
but  the  word  of  the  Lord  endureth  forever.  Be  serviceable  to 
all  thy  neighbors,  and  love  them  as  thyself.  Reverence  thy 
preceptors  ;  shun  the  conversation  of  those  whom  thou  de- 
sirest  not  to  resemble,  and  receive  not  in  vain  the  graces  which 
God  hath  bestowed  upon  thee.  And  when  thou  shalt  see  that 
thou  hast  attained  to  all  the  knowledge  that  is  to  be  acquired 
in  that  part,  return  unto  me,  that  I  may  see  thee,  and  give 
thee  my  blessing  before  I  die. 

My  son,  the  peace  and  grace   of  our   Lord  be  with  thee. 

Amen. 

Thy  father,  GARGANTUA. 

From  Utopia,1  the  17th  day  of  the  month  of  March. 

These  letters  being  received  and  read,  Pantagruel  plucked 
tip  his  heart,  took  a  fresh  courage  to  him,  and  was  inflamed 

1  Utopia  is  the  name  of  an  imaginary  island,  the  creation  of  Sir  Thomas 
More,  a  contemporary  of  Rabelais.  In  meaning  it  signifies  nowhere.  The 
word  is  now  used  in  all  modern  languages  to  signify  a  state  or  place  of  ideal 
perfection. 


EDUCATION  OF  GARGANTUA  AND  PANTAGRUEL         31 

with  a  desire  to  profit  in  his  studies  more  than  ever  ;  so  that 
if  you  had  seen  him,  how  he  took  pains,  and  how  he  advanced 
in  learning,  you  would  have  said  that  the  vivacity  of  his  spirit 
amidst  the  books  was  like  a  great  fire  amongst  dry  wood,  so 
active,  vigorous,  and  indefatigable  it  was. 

VI.     How   PANTAGRUEL   MET    WITH    A   LIMOSIN,  WHO  AFFECTED 

TO    SPEAK    IN    A    LEARNED    PHRASE 

Upon  a  certain  day,  I  know  not  when,  Pantagruel,  walking 
after  supper  with  some  of  his  fellow-students,  without  that 
gate  of  the  city  through  which  we  enter  on  the  road  to  Paris, 
encountered  with  a  young,  handsome,  spruce  scholar  that  was 
coming  upon  the  very  same  way ;  and,  after  they  had  saluted 
one  another,  asked  him  thus  : 

' '  My  friend,  from  whence  comest  thou  now  ?  ' ' 

The  scholar  answered  him,  ' '  From  the  alme,  inclyte,  and 
celebrate  academy  which  is  vocitated  Lutetia." 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this?  "  said  Pantagruel  to  one  of 
his  men. 

"It  is,"  answered  he,  "from  Paris." 

' '  Thou  comest  from  Paris,  then, ' '  said  Pantagruel ;  ' '  and 
how  do  you  spend  your  time  there,  you,  my  masters,  the 
students  of  Paris?  " 

The  scholar  answered  : 1  "  We  transfretate  the  Sequan  at  the 
dilucal  and  crepuscul ;  we  deambulate  by  the  complies  and  qua- 
drives  of  the  urb ;  we  despumate  the  latial  verbocination ;  and, 
like  verisimilarie  amorabons,  we  captat  the  benevolence  of  the 
omnijugal,  omniform,  and  omnigenal  feminine  sex ;  then  do  we 
cauponisate  in  the  meritory  taberns  of  'The  Pineapple,'  'The 
Castle,'  'The  Magdalene,'  and  'The  Mule,'  goodly  verve- 
cine  spatules  perforaminated  with  petrosile  ;  and  if  by  good  for- 

1  A  portion  of  this  macaronic  speech  has  been  explained  on  page  11.  The 
student  of  Latin  may  find  some  amusement  in  deciphering  the  remainder. 
This  caricature  of  the  affected  and  stilted  speech  of  many  learned  men  in  the 
time  of  Rabelais  has  had,  doubtless,  a  vast  influence  in  favor  of  purity  and  pro- 
priety of  speech  in  many  nations. 


32  FRANCOIS  EABELAIS 

tune  there  be  rarity  or  penury  of  pecune  in  our  marsupies,  and 
that  they  be  exhausted  of  ferruginean  metal  for  the  shot,  we 
dimit  our  codices,  and  oppignerat  our  vestiments,  whilst  we 
prestolate  the  coming  of  the  tabellaries  from  the  penates,  and 
patriotic  lares." 

To  which  Pantagruel  answered,  "What  devilish  language  is 
this  ?  By  the  Lord,  I  think  thou  art  some  kind  of  heretic. ' ' 

"My  Lord,  no,"  said  the  scholar;  "for  libentissimally,  as 
soon  as  it  illucesceth  any  minutle  slice  of  the  day,  I  demigrate 
into  one  of  these  so  well  architected  minsters,  and  there  irrorat- 
ing  myself  with  fair  lustral  water,  I  mumble  off  little  parcels  of 
some  missic  precation  of  our  sacrificals;  and  submurmurating 
my  horary  precules,  I  elevate  and  absterg  my  anime  from  its 
nocturnal  inquinations.  I  revere  the  olympicols;  I  latrially 
venere  the  supernal  astripotent;  I  dilige  and  redame  my  prox- 
ims ;  I  observe  the  decalogical  precepts ;  and,  according  to  the 
facultatule  of  my  vires,  1  do  not  discede  from  them  one  breath 
of  an  unguicule.  Nevertheless  it  is  veriform  that,  because 
Mammona  doth  not  supergurgitate  anything  in  my  locules,  I  am 
somewhat  rare  and  lent  to  superrogate  the  elemosynes  to  those 
egents  that  ostially  queritate  their  stipe." 

"Prut,  prut,"  said  Pantagruel,  "what  doth  this  fool  mean 
to  say?  I  think  he  is  upon  the  forging  of  some  diabolical 
tongue,  and  that,  enchanter-like,  he  would  charm  us. ' ' 

To  whom  one  of  his  men  said  :  "  Without  doubt,  sir,  this 
fellow  would  counterfeit  the  language  of  the  Parisians  ;  but  he 
doth  only  flay  the  Latin,  imagining,  by  so  doing,  that  he  doth 
mightily  Pindarize  it  in  most  eloquent  terms,  and  strongly  con- 
ceiteth  himself  to  be,  therefore,  a  great  orator  in  the  French, 
because  he  disdaineth  the  common  manner  of  speaking. ' ' 

To  which  Pantagruel  said  ;  "  Is  it  true  ?  " 

The  scholar  answered  :  ' '  My  worshipful  Lord,  my  genie  is 
not  aptnate  to  that  which  this  flagitious  nebulon  saith,  to  excori- 
ate the  cuticle  of  our  vernacular  G-allic;  but  viceversally  I  gnave 
opere,  and  by  veles  and  rames  enite  to  locupletate  it  with  the 
Latinicome  redundance. ' ' 


EDUCATION   OF  GAEGANTUA   AND  PANTAGRUEL         33 

"By  G — ,"  said  Pantagruel,  "I  will  teach  you  to  speak; 
but  first  come  hitherto  and  tell  me  whence  thou  art. ' ' 

To  this  the  scholar  answered,  "The  primeval  origin  of  my 
aves  and  ataves  was  indigenary  of  the  Lemovick  regions,  where 
requiesceth  the  corpor  of  the  Jiagiotat  St.  Martial." 

"  I  understand  thee  very  well,"  said  Pantagruel  ;  "when  all 
comes  to  all ;  thou  art  a  Limosin,  and  thou  wilt  here,  by  thy 
affected  speech,  counterfeit  the  Parisians.  Well,  now,  come 
hither ;  I  must  show  thee  a  new  trick,  and  handsomely  give 
thee  one  fling." 

With  this  he  took  him  by  the  throat,  saying  to  him  :  "  Thou 
flayest  the  Latin  ;  by  St.  John,  I  will  make  thee  flay  the  fox, 
for  I  will  now  flay  thee  alive." 

Then  began  the  poor  Limosin  to  cry  :  "  Haw,  gwid  master  ! 
haw,  Laord,  my  halp,  and  St.  Marshaw  !  haw,  I  am  worried  ; 
haw,  my  thropple,  the  bean  of  my  cragg  is  bruk ;  haw,  for 
Guaad's  seek,  lawt  me  lean,  mawster  ;  waw,  waw,  waw. " 

"Now,"  said  Pantagruel,  "thou  speakest  naturally;  "  and 
so  let  him  go. 

SCH.   IN  COM.  —  3 


ROGER  ASCHAM 

THE   FATHER  OF  ENGLISH   SCHOOLMASTERS 

No  characters  of  English  history  are  more  interesting  to  the  student  and 
the  teacher  than  the  two  Queens  whose  names  are  linked  with  the  name  of 
the  famous  schoolmaster,  Roger  Ascham.  Queen  Elizabeth  and  Lady  Jane 
Grey  were  unlike  each  other  in  most  respects.  The  one  occupied  the  highest 
pinnacle  of  human  greatness,  and  displayed  marvelous  abilities  in  her  long 
and  splendid  career.  The  other,  who  is  remembered  with  sympathy  and 
commiseration  for  her  hapless  fate,  perished  in  her  youth  upon  an  igno- 
minious scaffold,  after  a  repudiated  reign  of  ten  days,  and  thus  with  small 
regret  terminated  a  life  which  had  known  but  little  joy  or  sunshine. 

These  fair  cousins  possessed  in  common  a  love  for  study  and  a  persever- 
ance which  resulted  in  their  becoming,  probably,  the  two  most  learned 
women  of  the  world  in  their  day. 

Doubtless  it  is  to  his  association  with  these  royal  ladies  that  the  old 
schoolmaster  owes  chiefly  the  long  remembrance  of  his  name ;  but  his  fame 
rests  upon  a  more  substantial  basis  than  any  mere  accident  of  association. 
He  was  a  most  prudent  officer  of  state.  As  Latin  Secretary  to  three  succes- 
sive Sovereigns  of  England  (Edward  VI.,  Mary  I.,  and  Elizabeth),  he  pos- 
sessed many  confidences  in  state  and  personal  affairs,  which  he  never 
divulged;  and  it  has  been  regretted  that  he  did  not  (like  many  another 
with  his  opportunities)  leave  behind  him  some  diary  or  memorandum  of 
these,  for  the  use  of  later  historians.  He  was  one  of  the  first  masters  of 
English  prose;  and  it  has  been  suggested  by  an  eminent  critic  that  the 
history  of  English  literature  opens  with  his  name. 

As  an  educator,  he  holds  a  high  rank.  His  method  of  teaching  Latin 
and  Greek  was  essentially  the  same  as  the  one  most  popular  among  progres- 
sive teachers  of  the  languages  at  the  present  time  —  the  inductive  method, 
which  has  been  revived  within  recent  years,  in  the  United  States,  chiefly 
through  the  distinguished  labors  of  Dr.  William  Rainey  Harper  and  his 
eminent  colleagues. 

Roger  Ascham  was  born  at  Kirby  Wiske,  Yorkshire,  England,  in  1515, 
and  died  December  23,  1568.  He  was  graduated  at  Cambridge  University, 
where  he  won  distinction  as  a  student  of  the  classics.  For  two  years  he 
served  as  preceptor  to  "the  Ladye  Elizabeth,"  winning  golden  opinions  for 

34 


ROGER  ASCHAM  35 

his  merits  as  an  instructor.  For  nearly  three  years  he  resided  in  Ger- 
many, as  confidential  Secretary  of  the  English  Ambassador  to  the  court  of 
Charles  V.  While  there,  he  wrote  a  valuable  report  of  the  affairs  of  the 
Empire  and  the  court.  In  the  reign  of  Mary  I.  he  resigned  the  office  of 
Latin  Secretary,  which  he  had  held  under  her  half-brother,  Edward  VI. 

He  had  written,  some  years  before,  a  delightful  book  on  archery  —  then 
a  popular  recreation.  Later,  he  was  also  the  author  of  a  volume  entitled 
The  Cockpit,  —  for  in  that  day  cockfighting  and  bear-baiting  were  defended 
as  warmly  as  were  the  bullfights  of  Spain.  Indeed,  Queen  Elizabeth  saw 
no  impropriety  in  appointing  her  former  preceptor  to  the  office  of  bear- 
keeper  ;  and  it  was  while  thus  engaged  that  this  eminent  scholar  wrote  his 
book  on  cockfighting,  a  cruel  sport  which  is  now  universally  condemned. 
Happily  for  his  later  fame,  the  work  is  now  lost. 

Ascham's  most  famous  work  is  The  Scholemaster,  which  is  still  a  delight 
of  scholars.  Like  the  book  on  archery  (Toxophilits),  it  was  written  in 
English,  in  an  easy,  natural  style.  When  the  Toxophilus  was  first  published, 
in  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.,  the  author  apologized  to  the  King  for  having 
written  it  in  English,  and  offered  to  rewrite  it  in  Latin  or  in  Greek. 

"To  have  written  in  another  tongue,"  he  said,  "had  been  both  more 
profitable  for  my  study,  and  also  more  honest  (honorable)  for  my  name ; 
yet  I  can  think  my  labor  well  bestowed  if,  with  a  little  hindrance  of  my 
profit  and  name,  may  come  any  furtherance  to  the  pleasure  or  commodity 
of  the  gentlemen  and  yeomen  of  England."  Isaac  Disraeli  remarks,  "  It 
was  a  bold  decision  in  a  college  professor,  who  looked  for  his  fame  from  his 
lectures  on  Greek,  to  venture  on  modeling  his  native  idiom  with  a  purity 
and  simplicity  to  which  it  was  yet  strange." 

The  success  of  the  first  work  led  to  the  author's  adoption  of  English  as 
the  language  of  his  more  important  book  on  education.-  The  Scholemaster 
inculcates  chiefly  a  mild  and  gentle  discipline  of  pupils,  and  a  system  of 
inductive  teaching  of  the  languages.  In  both  respects  it  is  in  general 
harmony  with  the  best  educational  thought  of  our  time. 

The  work  is  not  devoid  of  narrative,  and  is  charming  in  its  unaffected 
simplicity  and  sincerity.  At  the  outset,  the  author  relates  the  circumstances 
which  led  to  its  composition.  In  order  that  the  reader  of  this  volume  may 
enjoy  a  view  of  the  beautiful  old  English  of  Elizabeth's  day,  with  its  quaint 
spelling,1  capitalization,  and  punctuation,  the  extracts  from  The  Scholemaster 
are  reproduced  as  originally  printed.  To  the  day  of  his  death,  Ascham  re- 
mained the  Latin  Secretary  and  confidential  adviser  of  the  Virgin  Queen. 

1  It  will  be  noticed  that  Ascham  does  not  always  spell  the  same  words  in 
the  same  way.  Fixedness  in  the  forms  of  words  has  been  a  growth.  Among 
the  most  general  changes  in  English  spelling  since  the  time  of  Ascham  are  the 
dissociation  of  u  and  v,  the  substitution  of  y  for  the  French  ie  in  the  terminations 


36  ROGER  ASCHAM 

ASCHAM  AND   HIS   PUPILS 

(From  The  Scholemaster) 
ASCHAM  AT  WINDSOR  CASTLE 

When  the  great  plage  was  at  London,  the  yeare  1563,  the 
Queenes  Maiestie  Queene  Elizabeth,  lay  at  hir  Castle  of  Wind- 
sore:  where,  vpon  the  10.  day  of  December,  it  fortuned  that  in 
Syr  William  Cicells  chamber,  hir  Highnesse  Principal  Secretaire, 
there  dined  togither  these  personages,  M.  Secretaire  him  selfe, 
Syr  William  Peter,  Syr/.  Mason,  D.  Wotton,  Syr  Richard  Sackuill 
Treasurer  of  the  Exchecker,  Syr  Walter  Mildmaye  Chancellor 
of  the  Exchecker,  M.  Haddon,  Master  of  requestes,  M.  lohn 
Astley  Master  of  the  Jewell  house,  M.  Bernard  Hampton,  M. 
Nicasius,  and  I.  Of  which  number,  the  most  part  were  of  hir 
Maiesties  most  honorable  priuie  Counsell,  and  the  reast  seruing 
hir  in  verie  good  place. 

I  was  glad  than,  and  do  reioice  yet  to  remember  that  my 
chance  was  so  happie,  to  be  there  that  day,  in  the  companie  of 
so  manie  wise  and  goode  men  togither,  as  hardly  than  could 
haue  been  piked  out  againe,  out  of  all  England  beside. 

M.  Secretarie  hath  this  accustomed  maner,  though  his  head 
be  neuer  so  full  of  most  weightie  affaires  of  the  Realme,  yet, 
at  diner  time  he  doth  seeme  to  lay  them  alwaies  aside:  and 
findeth  euer  fitte  occasion  to  taulke  pleasantlie  of  other  mat- 
ters, but  most  gladlie  of  some  matter  of  learninge :  wherein,  he 
will  courteslie  heare  the  mind  of  the  meanest  at  his  table. 

Not  long  after  our  sitting  doune  I  haue  strange  news  brought 
me,  sayth  M.  Secretarie,  this  morning,  that  diuers  Scholers  of 
Eaton  be  runne  awaie  from  the  Schole,  for  fears  of  beatinge. 
Whereupon,  M.  Secretarie  took  occasion,  to  wish,  that  some 

of  words,  and  the  dropping  of  useless  silent  letters.  Noah  Webster,  the  Ameri- 
can lexicographer,  did  much  to  simplify  English  spelling,  within  the  present 
century,  and  his  reforms  are  generally  accepted  in  the  United  States,  and  to  a 
large  extent  also  in  England. 


ASCHAM  AND  HIS  PUPILS  37 

discretion  were  in  manie  Scholemasters,  in  using  correction 
than  commonly  there  is.  Who  manie  times,  punishe  rather 
weakenesse  of  nature,  than  the  fault  of  the  Scholer.  Whereby., 
many  Scholers,  that  might  else  proue  well,  be  driuen  to  hate 
learninge,  before  they  knowe,  what  learninge  meaneth  :  and  so, 
are  made  willing  to  forsake  their  booke,  and  be  glad  to  be  put 
to  any  other  kinde  of  liuing. 

M.  Peter  as  one  somewhat  seuere  of  nature,  said  plainlie  that 
the  Rodd  onlie,  was  the  sworde  that  must  keepe  the  Schole  in 
obedience,  and  the  Scholer  in  good  order.  M.  Wotton,  a  man 
milde  of  nature,  with  softe  uoice  and  few  wordes,  inclined  to 
M.  Secretaries  iudgement,  and  said,  in  mine  opinion  the  Schole 
house  should  be  in  deede,  as  it  is  called  by  name,  the  house  of 
playe  and  pleasure,  and  not  of  feare  and  bondage:  and  as  I  do 
remember,  so  saith  Socrates  in  one  place  of  Plato.  And  there- 
fore if  a  Rodd  carie  the  feare  of  a  Sworde,  it  is  no  maruell,  if 
those  that  be  fearful  of  nature,  chose  rather  to  forsake  the  Plaie 
than  to  stand  alwaies  within  the  feare  of  a  Sworde  in  a  fond 
man's  handlinge.  M.  Mason,  after  his  maner  was  uerie  merie 
with  both  parties,  pleasantlie  playing,  both  with  the  shrewd 
touches  of  manie  courste  boyes,  and  with  the  leude  Schole- 
masters. 

M.  Haddon  was  fullie  of  M.  Peters  opinion,  and  said  that 
the  best  Scholemaster  of  our  time,  was  the  greatest  beater,  and 
named  the  person.  Though  quoth  I,  it  was  his  goode  fortune, 
to  send  from  his  Schole  vnto  Vniuersitie,  one  of  the  beste 
Scholers  in  deede  of  all  our  time,  yet  wise  men  do  'chinke,  that 
that  came  so  true  passe,  rather,  by  the  great  towardnes  of  the 
Scholer  than  by  the  beatinge  of  the  Master:  and  whether  this 
be  true  or  no,  you  your  self  are  best  witnes.  I  said  somewhat 
farder  in  the  matter,  how,  and  whie  yong  children  were  soner 
allured  by  aloue,  than  driuen  by  beatinge,  to  atteyne  goode 
learninge :  wherein  I  was  the  bolder  to  say  my  minde  bicause 
M.  Secretaire  curtesie  prouoked  me  thereunto  :  or  else,  in  such 
a  companie,  and  namelie  in  his  praesence,  my  wonte  is,  to  be 
more  willinge,  to  vse  mine  eares,  than  to  occupie  my  tonge. 


38  EOQER  ASCII  AM 

Syr  Walter  Mildmaye^  M.  Astley,  and  the  rest,  said  uerie 
little  :  onlie  Syr  Rich.  Sackuill,  said  nothing  at  all.  After 
dinner  I  vp  to  reade  with  the  Queenes  Maiestie.  We  red  than 
togither  in  the  Greke  tonge,  as  I  well  remember  that  noble 
Oration  of  Demosthenes  against  Aeschines,  for  his  false  deal- 
inge  in  his  Ambassage  to  King  Philip  of  Macedonie.  Syr 
Rich.  Sackuill  came  up  sone  after  :  and  rinding  me  in  hir 
Maiesties  priuie  chamber,  he  tooke  me  by  the  hand,  and  carry- 
ing me  to  a  windoe  saide  M.  Ascham,  I  would  not  for  a  deale  of 
monie  haue  bene,  this  daie,  absent  from  diner.  Where,  though 
I  said  nothinge,  yet  I  gaue  as  good  eare,  and  do  consider  as 
well  tauke,  the  past,  as  anie  one  did  there.  M.  Secretarie  said 
uerie  wiselie  and  most  truely,  that  younge  wittes  be  driven  to 
hate  learninge  before  they  know  what  learninge  is.  I  can  be 
good  witnes  to  this  my  selfe  :  For  a  fond  Scholemaster  before  I 
was  fullie  fourtene  yeare  olde,  draue  me  so,  with  feare  of  beat- 
inge,  from  loue  of  learninge,  as  now,  when  I  know,  what  dif- 
ference it  is  to  haue  learninge,  and  to  haue  litle,  or  none  at 
all,  I  feele  it  my  greatest  griefe,  and  finde  it  my  greatest  hurte 
that  euer  came  to  me,  that  it  was  my  so  ill  chance,  to  light 
upon  so  lewde  a  Scholemaster.  But  seing  it  is  but  in  vain,  to 
lament  things  paste,  and  also  is  wisdome  to  looke  to  things  to 
cum,  surely,  God  willinge,  if  God  lend  me  life,  I  will  make 
this  my  mishap  some  occasion  of  goode  hap  to  little  Robert 
Sackuill  my  sonne.  For  whose  bringinge  vp,  I  would  glad- 
lie,  if  it  so  please  you,  vse  speciallie  your  good  aduice.  I 
heare  saie,  you  haue  sonne,  moch  of  ^his  age  :  we  wil  deal 
thus  togither.  '-\ 

Point  you  out  a  Scholemaster,  who  by  your  order,  shall  teache 
my  sonne  and  yours,  and  for  all  the  reste  I  will  prouide,  yea, 
though  they  three  do  coste  me  a  couple  of  hundred  poundes 
by  yeare  :  and  beside,  you  shall  finde  me  as  fast  a  Frend  to 
you  and  yours,  as  per  chance  any  you  haue.  Which  promise 
the  worthie  lentleman  surelie  kept  with  me  vntil  his  dying 
daye. 


ASCHAM  AND  HIS  PUPILS  39 

ASCHAM    AND    LADY    JANE    GREY 

And  one  example,  whether  loue  or  feare  doth  worke  more  in 
a  child,  for  uertue  and  learninge,  I  will  gladlie  report :  which 
maie  be  hard  with  some  pleasure,  and  folowed  with  more  profit. 
Before  I  went  into  Grermanie,  I  came  to  Brodegate,  in  Lecester- 
shire,  to  take  my  leaue  of  that  noble  Ladie  lane  Grey,  to 
whom  I  was  excedingly  moch  beholdinge.  Hir  parents,  the 
Duke  and  Duches,  with  all  the  household  Gentlemen  and 
Gentlewomen,  were  huntinge  in  the  Parke.  I  founde  hir,  in 
hir  chamber,  readinge  Phcedon  Platonis1  in  Greeke,  and  that 
with  as  moch  delite,  as  som  lentlemen  wold  read  a  merrie  tale 
in  Bocase.2  After  salutation,  and  dewtie  done  with  some  other 
taulke,  I  asked  her,  whie  wold  leese  soch  pastime  in  the 
Parke  ? 

Smiling  she  answered  me  :  I  wisse  all  their  sporte  in  the 
Parke  is  but  a  shadoe  to  that  pleasure,  that  I  find  in  Plato  : 
Alas,  goode  folke,  they  neuer  felt  what  trewe  pleasure  ment. 

And  howe  came  you  Madame,  quoth  I  deepe  knowledge  of 
pleasure,  and  what  did  chieflie  allure  you  vnto  it  :  seinge,  not 
many  women,  but  uerie  fewe,  haue  atteined  thereunto. 

I  will  tell  you,  quoth  she,  and  tell  you  a  troth,  which  per- 
chance ye  maruel  at.  One  of  the  greatest  benefites,  that  euer 
God  gaue  me,  is,  that  he  sent  me  so  sharpe  and  seuere  Parents, 
and  so  ientle  a  Scholemaster.  For  when  I  am  in  presence  either 
of  father  or  mother,  whether  I  speake,  kepe  silence,  sit,  stand, 
or  go,  eat,  drinke,  be  merie,  or  sad,  be  sowing,  plaiyng,  daunc- 
ing,  or  doing  ariie  thing  else,  I  must  do  it,  as  it  were,  in  soch 
weight,  mesure,  and  number,  euen  so  perfitelie,  as  God  made 
the  world,  or  else  I  am  so  sharplie  taunted,  so  cruellie  threat- 
ened, yea  presentlie  some  tymes,  with  pinches,  nippes,  and 
bobbes,  and  other  waies,  which  I  will  not  name,  for  the  honor 
I  beare  them,  so  without  measure  misordered,  that  I  think 


1  Plato's  Phcedo. 

a  Boccaccio  (bo-caht'-cho),  author  of  the  Decameron. 


40  ROGER  A SCH AM 

my  selfe  in  hell,  till  tyme  cum,  that  I  must  go  to  M.  Elmer, 
who  teacheth  me  so  ientlie,  so  pleasantlie,  with  soch  allure- 
ments to  learning  that  I  thinke  all  the  tyme  nothing  whiles 
I  am  with  him.  And  when  I  am  called  from  him  I  fall  on 
weeping,  because,  what  so  euer  I  do  els,  but  learning,  is  ful  of 
grief,  trouble,  feare,  and  whole  misliking  vnto  me  :  And  thus 
my  booke,  hath  bene  so  moch  my  pleasure,  and  bringeth  dayly 
to  me  more  pleasure  and  more,  that  in  respect  of  it  all  other 
pleasures,  in  uery  deede,  be  but  trifles  and  troubles  vnto  me. 

I  remember  this  talke  gladly,  both  by  cause  it  is  so  worthy 
of  memorie,  and  by  cause  also,  it  was  the  last  talke  that  ever 
I  had  and  the  last  tyme,  that  euer  I  saw  that  noble  and 
worthie  Ladie.1 

ASCHAM    AND    JOHN    WHITNEY 

I  had  once  a  profe  hereof  tried  by  good  experience,  by  a 
deare  frende  of  myne,  when  I  came  first  from  Cambrige,  to 
serue  the  Queenes  Maiestie.  Than  Ladie  Elizabeth,  lying 
at  worthie  Syr  Ant.  Denys  in  Cheston.  lohn  Whitneye,  a  yong 
ientleman,  was  my  bed  feloe,  who  willyng  by  good  nature 
and  prouoked  by  mine  aduice,  began  to  learne  the  Latin  tong, 
after  the  order  declared  in  this  book. 

We  began  after  Christmas :  I  read  vnto  him  Tullie  2  de  Amicitia 
which  he  did  euerie  day  twise  translate,  out  of  Latin  into  Eng- 
lish, and  out  of  English  into  Latin  againe.  About  S.  Laurence 
tyde  after,  to  proue  how  he  profited  I  did  chose  out  Torquatus 
tauk  de  Amicitia,  in  the  later  end  of  the  first  booke  de  Finib. 
Because  that  place  was,  the  same  in  matter,  like  in  words  and 
phrases,  nigh  to  the  forme  and  facion  of  sentences,  as  he  had 
learned  before  in  de  Amicitia.  I  did  translate  it  my  selfe  into 
plaine  English,  and  gaue  to  him  to  turne  into  Latin. 

1  Eoger  Ascham  and  Lady  Jane  Grey  is  the  title  of  an   "imaginary  dia- 
logue "  by  the  British  poet  Walter  Savage  Landor,  and  is  one  of  the  best  of 
his  writings  in  this  novel  form  of  fiction.     The  subject  of  the  dialogue  is  the 
approaching  marriage  of  Lady  Jane. 

2  Cicero. 


ASCBAM  AND  HIS  PUPILS  41 

Which  he  did,  so  choislie,  so  orderlie,  so  without  any  great 
misse  in  the  hardest  pointes  of  Grammer  that  some,  in  seuen 
yeare  Grammer  Scholes,  yea,  and  some  in  the  Vniuersities  to, 
can  not  do  halfe  so  well.1  This  worthie  yong  lentleman,  to  my 
greatest  grief,  to  the  great  lamentation  of  the  whole  house, 
and  specialie  to  that  most  noble  Ladie,  now  Queene  Elizabeth 
hir  self,  departed  within  few  dayes  out  of  this  world. 

And  if  in  any  cause  a  man  may  without  offence  of  God  speak 
somewhat  vngodlie,  surely,  it  was  some  grief  vnto  me,  to  see 
him  high  so  hastlie  to  God,  as  he  did.  A  Corte,  full  of  soch 
yong  lentlemen,  were  rather  a  Paradise  than  a  Corte  vpon 
earth.  And  though  I  had  neuer  Poetical  head  to  make  uerse 
in  any  tong,  yet  either  loue,  or  sorow,  or  both,  did  wring  out 
of  me  than,  certaine  caref  ull  thoughtes  of  my  good  will  towardes 
him,  which  in  my  morning  for  him,  fell  forth,  more  by  chance, 
than  either  by  skill  or  vse,  into  this  kinde  of  misorderlie  meter. 

Myne  owne  lohn  Whitneye,  now  farewell, 

No  death  doth  parte  vs  twaine, 
No  death  but  partying  for  a  while, 

Whom  life  shall  loyne  agayne. 
Therefore  my  hart  cease  sighes  and  sobbes, 

Cease  sorows  seede  to  sowe, 
Whereof  no  gaine,  but  greater  grief, 

And  hurtfull  care  may  grow 
Yet  when  I  thinke  vpon  soch  gifts 

Of  grace  as  God  him  lent, 
My  losse,  his  gaine,  I  must  a  while 

With  ioyful  tears  lament. 
****** 
Myne  owne  lohn  Whitneye  agayne  fairewell, 

A  while  thus  parte  in  twaine, 
Whom  payne  doth  parte  in  earth,  in  heauen 

Great  ioy  shall  ioin  agayne. 

1  The  rapidity  with  which  the  ancient  languages  are  learned  by  the  inductive 
method  in  the  hands  of  skillful  teachers  is  surprising.  Professor  Isaac  B.  Bur- 
gess, associate  editor  (with  Dr.  William  Rainey  Harper)  of  the  Commentaries  of 
Caesar,  is  the  author  of  a  valuable  essay  on  The  Matter  and  Method  of  the  First 
Year's  Latin  Study,  in  which  the  inductive  method  is  explained  and  applied. 


42  ROGER  ASCHAM 

ASCHAM    AND    QuEEN    ELIZABETH 

And  a  beter  nearer  example  herein  male  be  our  most  noble 
Queene  Elizabeth,  who  never  tooke  yet  Greeke  nor  Latin  Gram- 
mer  in  hir  hande  after  the  first  of  a  noun  and  uerb:  But  onlie 
by  this  double  translatynge  of  Demosthenes  and  Isocrates  Daylie 
without  missing  euery  fore  noon,  and  like  wise  som  parte  of 
Tully  euerie  afternoone,  for  the  space  of  a  yeare  or  two,  hath 
attayned  to  soch  perfite  vnderstandynge  in  bothe  the  tonges, 
and  to  soch  a  redie  vtterance  of  the  Latin,  and  that  withe  soch 
iudgmente,  as  there  be  f ewe  now  in  both  vniuersities  or  else- 
where in  England  that  be  in  both  tonges  comparable  with  hir 
Maiestie. 

******** 

It  is  youre  shame  (I  speak  to  you  all  you  yong  lentlemen  of 
England)  that  one  maid  should  go  before  you  all  in  excellencie 
of  learnyng,  and  knowledge  and  diuers  tonges.  Pointe  forth 
six  of  the  best  giuen  lentlemen  of  this  Courte,  and  all  they 
together  shew  not  so  much  goode  will,  spend  not  so  much 
tyme,  bestow  not  so  many  houres  daylie,  orderlie,  and  con- 
stantlie,  for  the  increase  of  learning  and  knowledge,  as  doth 
the  Queenes  maiestie,  hir  selfe.  Yea  I  belieue,  that  beside  her 
perfit  readines,  in  Latin,  Italian,  French,  and  Spanish  she 
readeth  here  now  in  Windsore  more  Greeke  euery  daie  than 
som  Prebendarie  of  this  Chirch  doth  read  Latin  in  a  whole 
weeke. 

And  that  which  is  most  praise  worthie  of  all,  within  in  the 
walles  of  hir  priuie  chamber,  she  hath  obteyned  that  excellency 
of  learnyng,  to  vnderstand,  speak,  and  write  both  wittely  with 
hir  head  and  faire  with  hir  hand,  as  scarce  one  or  two  rare 
wittes  in  both  the  vniuersities  haue  in  many  yeares  reached 
vnto. 


II 

SHAKSPEARE 

FE'NELON 

SWIFT 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPEARE 

IT  is  a  singular  fact  that  we  know  far  less  of  the  man  Shakspeare,  the 
greatest  of  all  writers,  than  we  know  of  thousands  of  inferior  authors. 
Though  he  lived  but  three  centuries  ago,  his  life  is  more  obscure  than  the 
lives  of  some  writers  who  lived  before  the  time  of  Christ,  and  whose  works 
are  lost  or  forgotten.  Yet  Shakspeare  was  born  and  lived  in  "  the  heart  of 
England,"  and  in  a  period  of  his  country's  greatest  glory. 

Diligent  research  of  the  most  penetrating  character  within  recent  years 
has  brought  to  light  references  and  records  of  his  contemporaries  which  give 
some  clue  to  his  private  life,  so  that  he  seems  less  like  a  mythical  character 
than  formerly ;  yet  there  is  much  controversy,  even  as  to  these. 

That  the  greatest  literary  genius  of  the  world,  living  in  such  an  age, 
should  be  involved  in  such  obscurity,  is  explained  by  the  singular  vicissi- 
tudes of  his  writing.  The  value  of  his  plays  was  not  appreciated  or  under- 
stood for  more  than  a  century  after  his  death  ;  and  when  the  cultivation  of 
the  public  taste  led  the  people  of  the  English-speaking  world  to  understand 
his  worth,  the  contemporaries  of  the  great  poet  had  all  passed  away,  and 
little  remained  in  the  folk-lore  of  their  descendants  to  fill  out  the  picture  of 
his  life. 

After  Shakspeare's  time  came  the  civil  war  between  King  and  Parliament, 
when  books  were  little  read.  Then  came  the  rule  of  the  Puritans,  who  con- 
sidered the  drama  essentially  bad  and  sinful  in  all  its  forms. 

Then,  in  the  reaction  from  the  grim  austerity  of  the  Puritans,  the  mon- 
archy was  restored  ;  and  the  exiled  Prince,  who  had  gathered  every  vice  in 
his  wanderings,  brought  with  him  to  the  court  and  to  society  a  contempt 
for  all  that  was  good  in  literature.  The  taste  of  the  people  was  debauched, 
and  the  "  Corrupt  Drama  "  thrust  aside  the  works  of  real  merit.  In  the 
days  of  Queen  Anne  the  people  were  taught  to  read  and  understand,  to 
admire  and  love,  the  wonderful  legacy  of  Shakspeare's  works.  But  it  was 
then  too  late  to  know  the  man  himself,  apart  from  his  writings. 

William  Shakspeare  was  born  in  the  village  of  Stratford-on-Avon,  in 
1564.  His  father  was  a  prosperous  farmer,  glove-maker,  and  petty  officer, 
who-  could  neither  read  nor  write.  Somewhere  and  sometime  Shakspeare 
went  to  school,  and  acquired  a  smattering  of  Latin  and  Greek.  He  married 
at  nineteen,  and  lived  in  London  some  years  later.  After  an  indefinite 

46 


46  WILLIAM  SHAKSPEARE 

period  of  life  in  the  city,  he  returned  to  Stratford,  where  he  died  in  1616, 
and  was  buried  in  the  parish  church. 

While  in  London  he  was  connected  with  various  theaters,  in  different 
ways.  He  was  an  actor,  a  copyist  and  editor  of  old  plays,  an  author  of 
plays.  The  amount  of  literary  labor  which  he  performed  in  a  lifetime  of 
fifty-two  years  is  prodigious.  His  genius  is  amazing.  He  entered  into  the 
feeling  of  every  man  whose  biography  he  read.  He  entered  into  the  spirit 
of  every  age  described  in  the  histories  that  fell  into  his  hands.  His  mind 
was  universal  in  its  adaptation.  He  seemed  to  have  lived  in  every  historical 
period,  and  in  every  clime.  He  wrote  tragedies,  comedies,  historical  plays, 
sonnets,  and  descriptive  poems. 

He  lacked  the  accurate  training  of  the  scholar.  Sometimes  he  makes 
slips  that  are  amusing  to  the  college  student.  For  instance,  in  his  drama 
of  Julius  Ccesar  the  time  of  day  is  told  by  the  clock,  though  there  were  no 
clocks  in  Caesar's  time.  Again,  in  the  Troilus  and  Cressida  one  of  the 
characters  quotes  Aristotle,  the  Greek  philosopher,  though  Aristotle  did  not 
live  until  centuries  after  the  conflict  portrayed.  Such  mistakes  could  not 
have  been  made  by  a  scholar  like  Lord  Bacon,  but  were  natural  in  a  man 
whose  education  was  principally  self-acquired. 

It  is  difficult  to  summarize  in  a  few  paragraphs  even  the  leading  merits 
of  Shakspeare's  plays. 

In  the  first  place,  there  is  his  universality.  Ophelia,  in  Hamlet,  is  a  true 
northern  maid;  the  heroine  of  Romeo  and  Juliet,  a  true  daughter  of  the 
South.  Caesar  and  Coriolanus,  Brutus,  and  Mark  Antony  are  true  Romans  ; 
Othello  is  a  true  Moor. 

Then  we  find  in  Shakspeare's  characters  complete  and  many-sided  indi- 
viduals, —  not  personages  invented  to  represent,  respectively,  single  traits  of 
character,  such  as  avarice,  ambition,  treachery,  etc.  Shylock  is  a  miser,  but 
he  is  more  than  a  miser ;  Coriolanus  is  a  traitor,  but  he  is  more  than  a 
mere  traitor.  And  so  with  the  leading  characters  of  all  the  dramas. 

Again,  Shakspeare  never  repeats  his  characters,  as  do  writers  of  a  nar- 
rower range.  No. two  are  alike.  From  the  infinite  variety  of  human  life 
he  has  gathered  a  multitude  of  distinct  and  individual  personages,  differing 
in  identity  as  in  name. 

In  the  selections  from  Ascham,  the  reader  has  been  led  to  observe  the 
changes  which  three  centuries  have  wrought  in  English  orthography.  In 
almost  any  extended  paragraph  from  Shakspeare  may  be  seen  the  changes 
which  have  come  to  the  meanings  and  use  of  English  words ;  for,  though 
the  pages  of  Shakspeare  now  appear  in  modern  dress,  the  language  he 
employs  varies  widely  from  modern  usage.  John  Peile,1  the  English  phi- 

1  Those  who  are  interested  in  language  study  are  recommended  to  read  Peile's 
Primer  of  Philology. 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPEARE  47 

lologist,  illustrates  this  by  an  analysis  of  the  following  paragraph,  selected 
at  random :  — 

"  His  two  chamberlains 

Will  I  with  wine  and  wassail  so  convince 

That  memory,  the  warder  of  the  brain, 

Shall  be  a  fume,  and  the  receipt  of  reason 

A  limbec  only." 

The  word  chamberlain,  which  now  signifies  a  censor  of  plays,  meant  for- 
merly a  bedroom  attendant,  or  guard.  Wassail,  which  has  disappeared 
from  common  use,  originally  signified  be  in  health,  and  was  an  ancient 
expression  of  good  wishes  on  occasions  of  festivity.  Convince,  which  now 
means  persuade,  originally  signified  overpower.  Warder,  which  has  dropped 
out  of  common  use,  formerly  denoted  a  military  guard.  Fume  is  used  in 
the  metaphorical  sense  in  which  the  word  mist  is  sometimes  used  at  the 
present  day.  Receipt  was  formerly  used  to  denote  a  receptacle ;  and  limbec, 
now  obsolete,  was  equivalent  to  alembic,  which  now  means  a  still,  or  retort, 
and  was  used  by  Shakspeare  to  denote  simply  an  empty  vessel. 

Shakspeare's  plays  have  been  edited  successively  by  Rowe,  Theobald, 
Pope,  Warburton,  Hanmer,  Johnson,  Malone,  Steevens,  Capell,  Singer,  Col- 
lier, Knight,  Halliwell,  Dyce,  Stanton,  and  other  English  critics;  and  by 
Hudson,  Grant  White,  and  Furness,  in  America. 

The  Shakspearean  criticism  of  Lessing,  Goethe,  Schiller,  Schlegel,  Tieck, 
Delius,  Ulrichi,  Gervinus,  Kreyssig,  Hertzberg,  Schmidt,  Ruemelin,  Benedix, 
and  other  German  editors,  is  remarkable  in  its  quantity  and  quality.  To 
Germans,  Shakspeare  seems  a  very  German.  It  is  their  amusing  boast  that 
their  edition  of  his  works  is  better  than  the  best  which  we  possess.  Shaks- 
peare belongs,  in  fact,  almost  equally  to  the  great  Teutonic  peoples. 

In  all  the  multitude  of  Shakspeare's  characters  there  are  but  two  school- 
masters. One  of  these  is  also  a  physician,  and  fills  a  subordinate  place  in 
the  Comedy  of  Errors,  a  drama  based  upon  an  ancient  Tvatin  play  by  Plautus. 
The  other  is  Holofernes,1  who  is  one  of  the  characters  in  Shakspeare's  sole 
educational  drama,  Love's  Labor's  Lost.  Many  have  supposed  that  this  is  a 
caricature  of  an  individual,  —  one  John  Florio,  —  but  this  seems  wholly 
improbable.  The  play  in  which  the  schoolmaster  appears  is  of  interest  to 
teachers  for  various  reasons.  It  exhibits  and  satirizes  the  pedantry,  puerility, 
affectation,  and  conceit  of  teachers  and  others  in  the  Elizabethan  period.2  It 


1  It  will  be  remembered  that  the  same  hateful  name  was  given  by  Rabelais 
to  a  schoolmaster  in  Gargantua. 

2  "Euphuism  —  from  the  prose  romance  of  Euphues,  in  which  Lyly  (lil'y) 
originated  it  —  is  best  known  to  modern  readers  by  the  pitiless  caricature  with 
which  Shakspeare  quizzed  its  pedantry,  its  affectation,  the  meaningless  monot- 
ony of  its  far-fetched  phrase,  the  absurdity  of  its  extravagant  conceits.     Its 


48  WILLIAM  SHAKSPEARE 

illustrates  the  casuistry  of  literalists ;  the  capabilities  of  students  for  good 
or  evil ;  the  analysis  of  their  characters ;  the  lugubriousness  of  educational 
pessimists;  false  reasoning  in  inductive  learning;  inconsistency  in  the  use 
of  language ;  above  all,  the  absurdity  of  monastic  and  unnatural  restraints 
in  an  academy. 

Love's  Labor's  Lost  is  a  dramatic  plea  on  behalf  of  nature  and  of  common 
sense  against  all  that  is  unreal  and  affected.  It  maintains  in  a  gay  and 
witty  fashion  the  superiority  of  life,  as  a  means  of  education,  over  books ; 
the  superiority  of  the  large  world  into  which  we  are  born  over  any  little 
world  we  can  construct  for  ourselves,  and  into  which  we  may  hedge  our- 
selves by  rule ;  and,  while  maintaining  this,  it  also  asserts  that  we  must  not 
educate  ourselves  only  by  what  is  mirthful  and  pleasant  in  the  world,  but 
must  recognize  its  sorrow ;  and  that  we  cannot  be  right  glad  without  being 
brave  and  earnest.  — EDWARD  DOWDEN. 


KING  FERDINAND'S  ACADEMY,1  AND  WHY  IT  FAILED 
THE  STORY  OF  LOVE'S  LABOR'S  LOST 

The  King  of  Navarre  2  and  three  of  his  Lords  —  one  of  whom, 
Berowne,  sees  through  the  seeming  splendor  of  the  King's  design 
to  its  real  folly  —  resolve  to  turn  their  court  into  a  "little 
Academe,"  to  seclude  themselves  from  all  that  is  common  and 
unideal,  to  devote  themselves  for  three  years  to  study,  fasting 
much,  sleeping  little,  and  forswearing  the  company  of  ladies  ; 


representative  Armado,  in  Love's  Labor's  Lost,  is  '  a  man  of  fire-new  words, 
fashion's  own  knight.'  But  its  very  extravagance  sprang  from  the  general 
burst  of  delight  in  the  new  resources  of  thought  and  language  which  literature 
felt  to  be  at  its  disposal.  For  a  time  euphuism  had  all  its  own  way.  Elizabeth 
was  the  most  affected  and  detestable  of  euphuists."  — J.  R.  OREENK. 

1  Academy,  or  academe,  is  here  used  in  its  earlier  sense,  and  means  an  asso- 
ciation of  scholars,  rather  than  a  school.    The  word  is  derived  from  the  Acade- 
mia,  or  Grove  of  Academus,  in  the  vicinity  of  ancient  Athens,  where  the  learned 
were  accustomed  to  assemble.     There  are  in  Europe  a  number  of  celebrated 
academies,  composed  of  men  distinguished  in  literature  and  the  fine  arts. 

2  Navarre,  or  Navarra,  now  a  province  in  the  north  of  Spain,  was  formerly 
an  independent  kingdom.     In  the  time  of  Shakspeare,  King  Henry  of  Navarre 
(who  became  King  of  France)  was  the  hope  of  the  Huguenots  (French  Prot- 
estants). 


KING  FERDINAND'S  ACADEMY  49 

in  a  word,  they  aspire  to  establish  a  little  monastery  of  culture. 
The  scheme,  which  looked  so  graceful  while  it  went  no  farther 
than  words,  breaks  down  lamentably  when  they  would  make  it 
real. 

The  King1  is  obliged,  by  reasons  of  state,  to  receive  the 
Princess  of  France  and  her  three  ladies  ;  the  vowed  scholars  — 
all  of  them  —  fall  over  head  and  ears  in  love,  and  an  amusing 
scene  of  discovery  and  confession  takes  place,  in  which  each 
in  turn  betrays  his  secret,  and  is  convicted  before  his  equally 
guilty  fellows,  until  at  last  Berowne  —  who  unites  good  sense 
with  genius  —  comes  forward  to  charge  with  error  their  original 
vows  of  seclusion,  and  to  justify  their  present  apostasy.  There 
is  much  merry  mocking  of  the  lovers  by  the  French  girls,  and 
in  bright  play  with  the  weapons  of  words  Rosaline  is  a  match 
for  Berowne. 

When  the  mirth  is  at  its  highest  come  tidings  that  the 
father  of  the  Princess  is  dead.  The  comedy  will  not  end  with 
weddings ;  love's  labor  is  lost.  The  King  is  dismissed  to  a 
twelvemonth's  absence  and  testing  of  his  love ;  and  Berowne, 
the  mocker,  in  the  same  interval  before  marriage,  must  make 
his  jests,  if  he  can,  for  sick  folk  in  an  hospital,  and  so  learn  the 
graver  side  of  life. 

Thus,  with  its  apparent  lightness,  there  is  a  serious  spirit 
underlying  the  play,  but  the  surface  is  all  jest,  and  stir,  and 
sparkle.  It  is  a  comedy  of  dialogue  rather  than  of  incident, 
and  in  the  persons  of  Don  Adriano  de  Armado,  a  fantastical 
Spaniard,  of  Sir  Nathaniel,  the  curate,  and  of  Holofernes, 
the  schoolmaster,  are  caricatured  various  Elizabethan  ab- 
surdities of  speech,  pseudo-refinement,  and  pseudo-learning. 
The  braggart  soldier  and  the  pedant  are  characters  well  known 
in  Italian  comedy,  and  perhaps  it  was  from  that  quarter  that 
the  hint  came  to  Shakspeare,  which  stirred  his  imagination  to 
create  these  ridiculous  figures.  —  EDWARD  DOWDEN. 

1  It  will  not  do  to  inquire  too  closely  as  to  the  particular  King  of  Navarre  who 
is  here  represented.  The  King  Ferdinand  of  the  play  is,  doubtless,  a  suppositi- 
tious character. 

8CH.  IN  COM. — 4 


50  WILLIAM   SHAKSPEARE 

BRIGHT  THOUGHTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA 
THE  KING'S  PLAN  FOR  AN  "ACADEME" 

King.     Navarre  shall  be  the  wonder  of  the  world . 
Our  Court  shall  be  a  little  Academe, 
Still  and  contemplative  in  living  art. 

HIS    FELLOW-SCHOLARS 

King.     You  three,  Biron,1  Dumain,  and  Longaville. 
Have  sworn  for  three  years'  term  to  live  with  me, 
My  fellow-scholars,  and  to  keep  those  statutes 
That  are  recorded  in  this  schedule  here. 

SOME    OF    THE    RULES    PRESCRIBED 

Biron.   To  live  and  study  here  three  years. 

Not  to  see  a  woman  in  that  term  ; 


And  one  day  in  a  week  to  touch  no  food  ; 
And  then,  to  sleep  but  three  hours  in  the  night, 
And  not  to  be  seen  to  wink  of  all  the  day. 

THE    KING'S    LOFTY    PURPOSE 

King.    Spite  of  cormorant,  devouring  Time, 

The  endeavor  of  this  present  breath  may  buy 
That  honor  which  shall  bate  his  scythe's  keen  edge, 
And  make  us  heirs  of  all  eternity. 

A  SHARP-TONGUED  STUDENT LONGAVILLE 

Maria  (a  lady  in  waiting  to  the  Princess  of  France). 

man  of  sovereign  parts  he  is  esteemed; 
Well  fitted  in  the  arts,  glorious  in  arms. 
Nothing  becomes  him  ill  that  he  would  well. 


1  Biron  is  pronounced  be-rone'.    It  is  spelt  Berowne'  by  Dowden  and  by 
some  others. 


KING  FERDINAND'S  ACADEMY  51 

The  only  soil  of  his  fair  virtue's  gloss 
(If  virtue's  gloss  will  stain  with  any  soil) 
Is  a  sharp  wit,  matched  with  too  blunt  a  will; 
Whose  edge  hath  power  to  cut  whose  will  still  wills. 
It  should  none  spare  that  come  within  his  power. 

A    DANGEROUS    STUDENT  —  DUMAIN 

Katharine  (#  lady  in  waiting  to  the  Princess).      A  well  ac- 
complished youth, 

Of  all  that  virtue  love,  for  virtue  loved  ; 
Most  power  to  do  most  harm,  least  knowing  ill ; 
For  he  hath  wit  to  make  an  ill  shape  good, 
And  shape  to  win  grace  though  he  had  no  wit. 
I  saw  him  at  the  Duke  Alenc.on's  (a-lon'-sons),  once ; 
And  much  too  little  of  that  good  I  saw, 
Is  my  report,  to  his  great  worthiness. 

A    MERRY    STUDENT BIRON 

Rosaline  (a  lady  in  waiting  to  the  Princess).       A  merrier 

man, 

Within  the  limit  of  becoming  mirth, 
I  never  spent  an  hour's  talk  withal, 
His  eye  begets  occasion  for  his  wit, 
For  every  object  that  the  one  doth  catch, 
The  other  turns  to  a  mirth-moving  jest, 
Which  his  fair  tongue  (conceit's  expositor) 
Delivers  in  such  apt  and  gracious  words, 
That  aged  ears  play  truant  at  his  tales, 
And  younger  hearings  are  quite  ravishdd  ; 
So  sweet  and  voluble  is  his  discourse. 

DUMAIN'S  IDEA  OF  EDUCATION 

Dumain.    Dumain  is  mortified  ; 

The  grosser  manner  of  these  world's  delights 


52  WILLIAM  SHAESPEARE 

He  throws  upon  the  gross  world's  baser  slaves; 
To  love,  to  wealth,  to  pomp,  I  pine  and  die, 
With  all  these  living  in  philosophy. 

LONGAVILLE'S  IDEA 

Longaville.    I  am  resolved;   'tis  but  a  three  years'  fast; 
The  mind  shall  banquet,  though  the  body  pine. 
Fat  paunches  have  lean  pates;  and  dainty  bits 
Make  rich  the  ribs,  but  bankrupt  quite  the  wits. 

BIRON'S    PROTEST    AGAINST    THE    RULES 

Biron.    O  these  are  barren  tasks,  too  hard  to  keep; 
Not  to  see  ladies,  study,  fast,  not  sleep. 
Let  me  say  no,  my  Liege,  an  if  you  please; 
I  only  swore  to  study  with  your  Grace, 
And  stay  here  in  your  court  for  three  years'  space. 

THE    OBJECT    OF    STUDY 

Biron.    What  is  the  end  of  study  ?     Let  me  know.1 
King.    Why,  that  to  know  which  else  we  should  not  know. 
Biron.  Things  hid  and  barred,  j^ou  mean,  from  common  sense  ? 
King.    Ay,  that  is  study's  godlike  recompense. 

BIRON'S  CASUISTRY 

Biron.    Come  on,  then;  I  will  swear  to  study  so, 
To  know  the  thing  I  am  forbid  to  know; 
As  thus  —  to  study  where  I  well  may  dine, 
When  I  to  feast  expressly  am  forbid; 
Or,  study  where  to  meet  some  mistress  fine, 
When  mistresses  from  common  sense  are  hid; 
Or,  having  sworn  too  hard-a-keeping  oath, 

1  This  question  is  one  of  great  importance  in  the  educational  world. 


KING  FERDINAND'S  ACADEMY  58 

Study  to  break  it,  and  not  break  my  troth. 
If  study's  gain  be  thus,  and  this  be  so, 
Study  knows  that  which  yet  it  doth  not  know: 
Swear  me  to  this,  and  I  will  ne'er  say  no. 

THE   KING    DISSENTS 

King.    These  be  the  stops  that  hinder  study,  quite, 
And  train  our  intellects  to  vain  delight. 

PESSIMISTIC    VIEWS    OF    STUDY 

Biron.    Why,  all  delights  are  vain,  but  that  most  vain 
Which,  with  pain  purchased,  doth  inherit  pain; 
As,  painfully  to  pore  upon  a  book, 
To  seek  the  light  of  truth,  while  truth,  the  while, 
Doth  falsely  blind  the  eyesight  of  his  look. 
Light,  seeking  light,  doth  light  of  light  beguile; 
So,  ere  you  find  where  light  in  darkness  lies, 
Your  light  grows  dark  by  losing  of  your  eyes. 
Study  is  like  the  heaven's  glorious  sun, 
That  will  not  be  deep-searched  with  saucy  looks. 
Small  have  continual  plodders  ever  won, 
Save  base  authority  from  others'  books. 
These  earthly  godfathers  of  heaven's  lights, 
That  give  a  name  to  every  fixdd  star, 
Have  no  more  profit  of  their  shining  nights 
Than  those  that  walk,  and  wot  not  what  they  are. 
Too  much  to  know  is  to  know  naught  but  fame, 
And  every  godfather  can  give  a  name. 
So  you,  to  study,  now,  it  is  too  late, 
Climb  o'er  the  house  to  unlock  the  little  gate. 
So  study  evermore  is  overshot ; 
While  it  doth  study  to  have  what  it  would, 
It  doth  forget  to  do  the  thing  it  should; 
And  when  it  hath  the  thing  it  hunteth  most, 
'Tis  won,  as  towns  with  fire;  so  won,  so  lost. 


54  WILLIAM  SHAKSPEARE 

ARMADO'S    ACCOMPLISHMENTS 

Biron.     But  is  there  no  quick  recreation  granted  ? 

King.    Ay,  that  there  is.     Our  court,  you  know,  is  haunted 
With  a  refindd  traveler  of  Spain; 
A  man  in  all  the  world's  new  fashion  planted, 
That  hath  a  mint  of  phrases  in  his  brain; 
One  whom  the  music  of  his  own  vain  tongue 
Doth  ravish,  like  enchanting  harmony; 
A  man  of  complements,  whom  right  and  wrong 
Have  chose  as  umpire  of  their  mutiny; 
This  child  of  fancy,  that  Armado  hight  [is  called], 
For  interim  to  our  studies,  shall  relate, 
In  highborn  words,  the  worth  of  many  a  knight 
From  tawny  Spain,  lost  in  the  world's  debate.1 

HOW    ARMADO    ENTERTAINED 

King.     How  you  delight,  my  Lords,  I  know  not,  I; 
But,  I  protest,  I  love  to  hear  him  lie, 
And  I  will  use  him  for  my  minstrelsy. 

Biron.     Armado  is  a  most  illustrious  wight, 
A  man  of  fire-new  words,  fashion's  own  knight. 

MOTH'S  CASUISTRY 

Armado.    I  have  promised  to  study  three  years  with  the  Duke. 
Moth.     You  may  do  it  in  an  hour,  sir. 

WHAT    A    GENTLEMAN    IS    PERMITTED    TO    KNOW 

Moth.     How  many  is  one  thrice  told  ? 

Armado.  I  am  ill  at  reckoning;  it  fitteth  the  spirit  of  a 
tapster. 

Moth.     You  are  a  gentleman,  and  a  gamester,  sir. 

1  This  characterization  of  the  Spanish  kingdom  is  an  illustration  of  the  Eng- 
lish contempt  for  Spain  in  the  time  of  Elizabeth.  Spain  was  "lost"  in  the 
"debate"  of  arms.  The  Spanish  have  continued  to  lose  in  influence  in 
European  affairs. 


KING  FERDINAND'S  ACADEMY  55 

Armado.  I  confess  both;  they  are  both  the  varnish  of  a 
complete  man. 

Moth.  Then  I  am  sure  you  know  how  much  the  gross  sum 
of  deuce-ace  amounts  to. 

Armado.     It  doth  amount  to  one  more  than  two. 

Moth.     Which  the  base  vulgar  do  call  three. 

Armado.     True. 

HOW   MOTH   WOULD    STUDY    "THREE    YEARS " 

Moth.  Why,  sir,  is  this  such  a  piece  of  study  ?  Now  here 
is  three  studied,  ere  you'll  thrice  wink;  and  how  easy  it  is  to 
put  years  to  the  word  three,  and  study  three  years  in  two 
words,  the  dancing  horse  will  tell  you. 

Armado.     A  most  fine  figure! 

ARMADO    LEARNS    HISTORY 

Armado.  Comfort  me,  boy.  What  great  men  have  been  in 
love? 

Moth.     Hercules,  Master. 

Armado.  Most  sweet  Hercules  !  More  authority,  dear 
boy,  name  more  ;  and,  sweet  my  child,  let  them  be  men  of 
good  repute  and  carriage. 

Moth.  Samson,  Master  ;  he  was  a  man  of  good  carriage, 
great  carriage  ;  for  he  carried  the  town  gates  on  his  back,  like 
a  porter  ;  and  he  was  in  love.1 

A   MODEST    PRINCESS 

Princess.     But  pardon  me,  I  am  too  sudden  bold  ; 
To  teach  a  teacher  ill  beseemeth  me. 

BREVITY   IS    THE   SOUL    OF    WIT 

Maria.     The  last  is  Biron,  the  merry  madcap  Lord ; 
Not  a  word  with  him  but  a  jest. 

Boyet.  And  every  jest  but  a  word. 

1  The  story  of  Samson's  carrying  away  the  city  gates  is  related  in  The 
Book  of  Judges,  chapter  xvi. 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPEARE 


MOTH'S  SIMILE 

Armado.     The  way  is  but  short ;   away. 

Moth.     As  swift  as  lead,  sir. 

Armado.     Thy  meaning,  pretty  ingenious  ? 
Is  not  lead  a  metal  heavy,  dull,  and  slow  ? J 

Moth.     Minimi,  honest  Master  ;  or  rather,  Master,  no. 

Armado.     I  say,  lead  is  slow. 

Moth.     You  are  too  swift,  sir,  to  say  so. 
Is  that  lead  slow  which  is  fired  from  a  gun  ? 

Armado.     Sweet  smoke  of  rhetoric  ! 

"L'ENVOY"  OUT  OF  PLACE 

Moth.     A  wonder,  Master ;   here's  a  Costard  broken  in   a 
shin. 

Armado.    Some  enigma,  some  riddle !  Come,  —  thy  V envoy  2  ; 
begin. 

Costard.  No  egma,  no  riddle,  no  V envoy ;  no  salve  in  them 
all,  sir  :  O,  sir,  plantain,  a  plain  plantain  ; 3  no  V envoy,  no 
I  envoy,  no  salve,  sir,  but  a  plantain  ! 

Armado.  By  virtue,  thou  enforcest  laughter ;  thy  silly 
thought,  my  spleen  ;  the  heaving  of  my  lungs  provokes  me 
to  ridiculous  smiling.  O  pardon  me,  my  stars  !  Doth  the 
inconsiderate  take  salve  for  V envoy,  and  the  word  V envoy  for 
a  salve? 

Moth.     Do  the  wise  think  them  other  ?  is  not  V envoy  a  salve  ? 

Armado.     No,  Page ;  it  is  an  epilogue,  or  discourse,  to  make 

plain 
Some  obscure  precedence  that  hath  tofore  been  sain.4 

1  Lead  is  commonly  used  as  a  simile  to  express  heaviness,  slowness,  or  dull- 
ness.    Pope  makes  use  of  it  in  the  latter  sense  in  The  Dunciad. 

2  L1  Envoy  (pronounced  long-vwah)  signifies  a  detached  verse  or  verses  at  the 
end  of  a  poem  or  story,  to  state  the  moral,  or,  sometimes,  to  address  the  com- 
position to  some  particular  person. 

8  Costard,  the  clown,  being  lame  from  a  bruise,  desired  some  plantain  leaves, 
which  were  considered  a  remedy  in  such  cases. 
«  Said. 


57 


ARMADO    ILLUSTRATES    THE    MEANING    OF    "  L7ENVOY 


Armado.     I  will  example  it : 

The  fox,  the  ape,  and  the  humble-bee 
Were  still  at  odds,  being  but  three. 
There's  the  moral.     Now  the  V envoy. 
Moth.     I  will  add  the  V envoy  ;  say  the  moral  again. 
Armado.     The  fox,  the  ape,  and  the  humble-bee 

Were  still  at  odds,  being  but  three — 
Moth.     Until  the  goose  came  out  of  door, 
And  stayed  the  odds  by  adding  four. 

Now  will  I  begin  your  moral,  and  do  you  follow  with  my  V envoy. 
The  fox,  the  ape,  and  the  humble-bee 
Were  still  at  odds,  being  but  three  — 
Armado.     Until  the  goose  came  out  of  door, 
Staying  the  odds  by  adding  four. 

**  *  #  *  #  *  * 

Costard.  Let  me  see  —  A  fat  V envoy ;  ay,  that's  a  fat 
goose. 

COSTARD    ACQUIRES    A   NEW   WORD 

Armado  {paying  Costard  for  a  service).  There  is  remunera- 
tion; for  the  best  word  of  mine  honor  is,  rewarding  my  depen- 
dants. Moth,  follow.  (Exit.} 

Moth.    Like  the  sequel,  I.     Signior  Costard,  adieu. 

Costard.  My  sweet  ounce  of  man's  flesh !  My  incony 
Jew!  (Exit  Moth.) 

Now  will  I  look  to  his  remuneration.  Remuneration  !  O 
that's  the  Latin  word  for  three  farthings.  Three  farthings  — 
remuneration.  What's  the  price  of  this  inkle  ? 1  A  penny. 
No,  I'll  give  you  a  remuneration.  Why,  it  carries  it.  Remu- 
neration !  Why,  it  is  a  fairer  name  than  French  crown.  I 
will  never  buy  and  sell  out  of  this  word. 

1  An  inkle  was  a  sort  of  broad  tape,  made  of  linen,  and  in  common  use. 


58  WILLIAM  SHAKSPEAEE 

COSTARD    MAKES    USE    OF    HIS    NEW    WORD1 

Biron.     O,  my  good  knave  Costard,  exceedingly  well  met ! 
Costard.     Pray  you,  sir,  how  much  carnation  ribbon  may  a 
man  buy  for  a  remuneration  ? 

Biron.     What  is  a  remuneration  ? 

Costard.     Marry,  sir,  half -penny  farthing. 

Biron.     O,  why,  then,  three  farthings'  worth  of  silk. 

Costard.     I  thank  your  worship.     God  be  with  you. 

COSTARD    ACQUIRES    ANOTHER    NEW    WORD 

Biron  (paying  Costard  for  a  service).  There's  thy  guer- 
don; go. 

Costard.  Garden  —  O  sweet  garden  !  Better  than  re*- 
numeration — eleven  pence  farthing  better.  Most  sweet  gardon  ! 
I  will  do  it,  sir,  in  print.  Gardon  —  remuneration. 

CREDIT    ALIKE    FOR    HITTING    OR    MISSING 

Princess.     Thus  will  I  save  my  credit  in  the  shoot. 
Not  wounding,  pity  would  not  let  me  do't ; 
If  wounding,  then  it  was  to  show  my  skill, 
That,  more  for  praise  than  purpose,  meant  to  kill. 

A    HINT    ON    THE    PRONUNCIATION    OF    "  SUITOR " 2 

Boyet  (bo-ya1 — a  French  Lord  attending  the  Princess).  Who 
is  the  suitor  ?  Who  is  the  suitor  ? 

Mo  saline.     Shall  I  teach  you  to  know  ? 

1  In  this  and  other  examples,  Costard  acquires  new  words  inductively,  —  by 
hearing  them  used.     That  he  makes  mistakes  is  no  valid  argument  against 
inductive  teaching.      The  meanings  of  most  words  are  acquired  in  this  way. 
Only  to  a  small  extent  is  the  meaning  of  language  learned  from  dictionaries. 
The  teacher  should  carefully  guard  the  pupil  against  mistaking  the  meanings  of 
words. 

2  The  letter  r  has  been  called  a  "plague  of  all  nations."    The  letter  «  is 
scarcely  less  perplexing.     The  descriptions  of  the  various  sounds  of  this  vowel, 
as  found  in  the  larger  dictionaries,  should  be  carefully  read  by  all  teachers. 


KING  FERDINAND'S  ACADEMY  59 

Boyet.     Ay,  my  continent  of  beauty. 

Rosaline.     Why,  she  that  bears  the  bow.     Finely  put  off ! 

THE    CONSTABLE    ACQUIRES    A    NEW   EXPRESSION 

Sir  Nathaniel  (the  Curate).  I  assure  ye  it  was  a  buck  of  the 
first  head. 

Holof ernes  (the  Schoolmaster).  Sir  Nathaniel,  hand  credo 
[I  don't  believe  it]. 

Dull  (the  Constable).  'Twas  not  a  hand  credo;  'twas  a 
pricket.1 

THE  CONSTABLE'S  IGNORANCE 

Holof  ernes.  Twice  sod  simplicity,  bis  coctus!  [twice  sod- 
den]. O  thou  monster  Ignorance,  how  deformed  dost  thou 
look! 

Sir  Nathaniel.  Sir,  he  hath  never  fed  of  the  dainties  that 
are  bred  in  a  book ;  he  hath  not  eat 2  paper,  as  it  were ;  he 
hath  not  drunk  ink ;  his  intellect  is  not  replenished ;  he  is 
only  an  animal,  only  sensible  in  the  duller  parts. 

A   MAN    OF    TASTE   AND    FEELING 

Sir  Nathaniel.     And  such  barren  plants  are  set  before  us 

that  we  thankful  should  be 
(Which  we  of  taste  and  feeling  are)  for  those  parts  that  do 

fructify  in  us  more  than  he. 
For,  as  it  would  ill  become  me  to  be  vain,  indiscreet,  or  a 

fool, 
So,  were  there  a  patch  set  on  learning,  to  see  him  in  a  school. 

THE  CONSTABLE'S  CONUNDRUM 

Dull.     You  two  are  book  men.     Can  you  tell  by  your  wit 
What  was  a  month  old  at  Cain's  birth,  that's  not  five  weeks 
old  as  yet  ? 

1  A  buck  at  the  age  of  two  years.  2  Past  tense,  pronounced  et. 


60  WILLIAM  SHAKSPEARE 

Holofernes.  Dictynna,  good  man  Dull.  Dictynna,  good 
man  Dull. 

Dull.     What  is  Dictynna  ? 

Sir  Nathaniel.     A  title  to  Phoebe,  to  Luna,  to  the  moon. 

THE  SCHOOLMASTER'S  PEDANTIC  TRIFLING 

Holofernes.     Sir   Nathaniel,    will   you   hear   an   extemporal 
epitaph  on  the  death  of  the  deer  ?  And,  to  humor  the  ignorant, 
I  have  called  the  deer  the  Princess  killed  a  pricket. 
The  preyful  Princess  pierced  and  pricked  a  pretty,  pleasing 

pricket. 

Some  say  a  sore,  but  not  a  sore,  till  now  made  sore  with  shoot- 
ing. 

The  dogs  did  yell ;  put  I  to  sore,  then  sorel  jumps  from  thicket ; 
Or  pricket  sore,  or  else  sorel ;  the  people  fall  a  hooting. 
If  sore  be  sore,  then  I  to  sore 
Makes  fifty  sores,  O  soreL! 
Of  one  sore  I  an  hundred  make 
By  adding  but  one  more  I. 

Sir  Nathaniel.     A  rare  talent! 

PRAISE    FOR   THE    SCHOOLMASTER 

Sir  Nathaniel.  Sir,  I  praise  the  Lord  for  you;  and  so  may 
my  parishioners  ;  for  their  sons  are  well  tutored  by  you,  and 
their  daughters  profit  very  greatly  under  you. 

THE  SCHOOLMASTER'S  PUN  ON  NASO1 

Holofernes.  Ovidius  Naso  was  the  man.  And  why,  indeed, 
Naso,  but  for  smelling  out  the  odoriferous  flowers  of  fancy,  the 
jerks  of  invention? 


1  The  name  of  Ovid,  the  Latin  poet.     In  Latin,  the  word  naso  means  from 
the  nose. 


KING  FERDINAND'S  ACADEMY  61 

THE  SCHOOLMASTEB'S  CRITICISM  OF  ARMADO* 

Holof  ernes.  He  draweth  out  the  thread  of  his  verbosity  finer 
than  the  staple  of  his  argument.  I  abhor  such  fanatical  phan- 
tasms, such  insociable  and  point-devise  companions;  such 
rackers  of  orthography,  as  to  speak  dout,  fine,  when  he  should 
say  doubt ;  det,  when  he  should  pronounce  debt  —  d,  e,  6,  £,  not 
d,  e,  t ;  he  clepeth  a  calf,  cauf;  half,  hauf;  neighbour  vocatur 
[is  called]  nebour ;  neigh,  abbreviated  ne.  This  is  ab-hominable 
(which  he  would  call  abominable).  It  insinuateth  me  of  in- 
sanie  — Ne  intelligis,  Domine  ?  [Don't  you  understand,  sir  ?]  — 
to  make  frantic  lunatic. 


HOW   THE    PAGE    WAS    IMPRESSED 

Sir  Nathaniel.      Videsne  quis  venit?  [Don't  you  see  who  is 

coming  ?] 

Holof  ernes.      Video,  et  gaudeo.     [I  see,  and  I  am  glad.] 
Moth.     They  have  been  at  a  great  feast  of  languages  and 

stolen  the  scraps!  (to  Costard,  aside). 


AN    OLD    MACARONIC    WORD 

Costard.  O,  they  have  lived  long  on  the  alms-basket  of 
words.  I  marvel  thy  master  hath  not  eaten  thee  for  a  word  ; 
for  thou  art  not  so  long  by  the  head  as  honorijicabilitudini- 
tatibus;2  thou  art  easier  swallowed  than  a  flap-dragon. 


1  Many  are  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  the  silent  letters  were  formerly  sounded 
in  such  English  words  as  doubt,  debt,  etc.     Abhominable  was  an  old  mis- 
spelling for  abominable,  on  the  supposition  that  the  word  was  derived  from  aft 
homine,  from  or  repugnant  to  man ;    it  is  really  derived  from  abominari,  to 
deprecate,  from  ab  +  omen.      The  schoolmaster's  ultra-conservatism  led  him 
to  cling  to  the  old  usage  as  to  the  forms  and  sounds  of  words. 

2  This  was  formerly  described  as  the  longest  word  in  the  English  language.     It 
is  not  retained  in  modern  dictionaries,  and  is,  in  fact,  meaningless.     It  occurs 
in  an  extended  form  as  a  vocal  exercise  in  Smart's  Gymnastics. 


62  WILLIAM  SHAESPEARE 

HOW    BIRON    KEPT    (?)    THE    RULES     OF    THE    ACADEMY    CONCERNING 

LADIES 

Biron  (soliloquizing}.  By  the  Lord,  this  love  is  as  mad  as 
Ajax.  It  kills  sheep.  It  kills  me  —  la  sheep.  Well  proved 
again  on  my  side.  I  will  not  love  ;  if  I  do,  hang  me.  I'  faith, 
I  will  not.  O,  but  her  eye  —  By  this  light !  But  for  her 
eye,  I  would  not  love  her;  yes,  for  her  two  eyes.  Well,  I 
do  nothing  in  the  world  but  lie,  and  lie  in  my  throat.  [  Climbs 
a  tree  and  conceals  himself.  Enter  King,  with  a  paper.] 

HOW  THE  KING  KEPT  (?)  THE  RULES 

King  (reads).     So  sweet  a  kiss  the  golden  sun  gives  not 
To  those  fresh  morning  drops  upon  the  rose, 
As  thy  eye  beams,  when  their  fresh  rays  have  smote 
The  night  of  dew  that  on  my  cheeks  down  flows  ; 
Nor  shines  the  silver  moon  one  half  so  bright 
Through  the  transparent  bosom  of  the  deep, 
As  doth  thy  face  through  tears  of  mine  give  light. 
Thou  shinest  in  every  tear  that  I  do  weep. 
O  Queen  of  Queens,  how  far  dost  thou  excel! 
No  thought  can  think,  nor  tongue  of  mortal  tell. 
How   shall   she  know   my  griefs  ?     [Steps  aside   and   conceals 
himself.     Enter  Longaville,  with  a  paper.  ] 

HOW  LONGAVILLE  KEPT  (?)  THE  RULES 

Longaville  (reads).     Did  not  the  heavenly  rhetoric  of  thine 

eye 

('Gainst  whom  the  world  cannot  hold  argument) 
Persuade  my  heart  to  this  false  perjury  ? 
Vows  for  thee  broke  deserve  not  punishment. 
A  woman  I  forswore  ;  but  I  will  prove, 
Thou  being  a  goddess,  I  forswore  not  thee. 
My  vow  was  earthly,  thou  a  heavenly  love  ; 
Thy  grace  being  gained  cures  all  disgrace  in  me. 


KING  FERDINAND'S  ACADEMY  63 

Vows  are  but  breath,  and  breath  a  vapor  is  ; 
Then,  thou,  fair  sun,  which  on  my  earth  doth  shine, 
Exhalest  this  vapor- vow  ;  in  thee  it  is ; 
If  broken,  then  it  is  no  fault  of  mine  ; 
If  by  me  broke,  what  fool  is  not  so  wise 
To  lose  an  oath  to  win  a  paradise  ? 

By  whom  shall  I  send  this  ?     [Steps  aside  and  conceals  himself. 
Enter  Dumain,  with  a  paper.  ] 

• 

MISERY    LOVES    COMPANY 

King  (aside}.     In  love,  I  hope.     Sweet  fellowship  in  shame  ! 

Biron  {aside).     One  drunkard  loves  another  of  the  name. 

Longaville  {soliloquizing}.  Am  I  the  first  that  has  been  per- 
jured so  ? 

Biron  (aside}.  I  could  put  thee  in  comfort ;  not  by  two 
that  I  know  ! 

HOW    DUMAIN    KEPT     (?)    THE    RULES 

Dumain  (reads}.     Do  not  call  it  sin  in  me 
That  I  am  forsworn  for  thee  ! 
Thou  for  whom  even  Jove  could  swear 
Juno  but  an  Ethiop  were, 
And  deny  himself  for  Jove, 
Turning  mortal  for  thy  love. 
This  will  I  send,  and  something  else,  more  plain, 
That  shall  express  my  true  love's  fasting  pain. 

COMPANIONSHIP    IN    WRONG    MAKES    WRONG    SEEM    RESPECTABLE 

Dumain  {soliloquizing}.       O    would   the    King,    Biron,    and 

Longaville 

Were  lovers,  too  !     Ill  to  example  ill 
Would  from  my  forehead  wipe  a  perjured  note, 
For  none  offend  where  all  alike  do  dote. 


64  WILLIAM  SHAKSPEAEE 


A    TOUCH    OF    NATUKE    MAKES    THE    WHOLE   WORLD    KIN 

Biron  (after  the  guilt  of  all  is  exposed  to  all). 
Sweet  Lords,  sweet  lovers,  O  let  us  embrace  ! 
As  true,  we  are,  as  flesh  and  blood  can  be. 
The  sea  will  ebb  and  flow,  heaven  show  its  face  ; 
Young  blood  doth  not  obey  an  old  decree. 
We  cannot  cross  the  cause  why  we  were  born  ; 
Therefore  of  all  hands  must  we  be  forsworn  ! 

AN    APPEAL    TO    BIRON    FOR   JUSTIFICATION 

King.     But  what  of  this  ?     Are  we  not  all  in  love  ? 

Biron.     O  nothing  so  sure  ;  and  thereby  all  forsworn. 

King.     Then  leave  this  chat ;  and,  good  Biron,  now  prove 
Our  loving  lawful,  and  our  faith  not  torn. 

Dumain.     Ay,  marry,  there  —  some  flattery  for  this  evil. 

Longaville.     O  some  authority  how  to  proceed  ; 
Some  tricks,  some  quillets,  how  to  cheat  the  Devil. 

Dumain.     Some  salve  for  perjury. 

BIRON'S  APPEAL  TO  THE  HEART 

Biron.  O,  'tis  more  than  need  ! 

Have  at  you  then,  affection's  men  at  arms. 
Consider,  what  you  first  did  swear  unto,  — 
To  fast,  — to  study,  — and  to  see  no  woman  ; 
Flat  treason  'gainst  the  kingly  state  of  youth. 
Say,  can  you  fast  ?    Your  stomachs  are  too  young  ; 
And  abstinence  engenders  maladies. 
And  where  that  you  have  vow'd  to  study,  Lords, 
In  that  each  of  you  hath  forsworn  his  book. 
Can  you  still  dream,  and  pore,  and  thereon  look  ? 
For  when  would  you,  my  Lord,  or  you,  or  you, 
Have  found  the  ground  of  study's  excellence, 
Without  the  beauty  of  a  woman's  face  ? 
From  women's  eyes  this  doctrine  I  derive  : 
They  are  the  ground,  the  books,  the  academes, 


KING  FERDINAND'S  ACADEMY  65 

From  whence  doth  spring  the  true  Promethean  fire. 

Why,  universal  plodding  prisons  up 

The  nimble  spirits  in  the  arteries  ; 

As  motion,  and  long-during  action,  tires 

The  sinewy  vigor  of  the  traveler. 

Now,  for  not  looking  on  a  woman's  face, 

You  have  in  that  forsworn  the  use  of  eyes  ; 

And  study,  too,  the  causer  of  your  vow  ; 

For  where  is  any  author  in  the  world, 

Teaches  such  beauty  as  a  woman's  eye  ? 

Learning  is  but  an  adjunct  to  ourself, 

And  where  we  are,  our  learning  likewise  is. 

Then,  when  ourselves  we  see  in  ladies'  eyes, 

Do  we  not  likewise  see  our  learning  there  ? 

O,  we  have  made  a  vow  to  study,  Lords  ; 
And  in  that  vow  we  have  forsworn  our  books  -, 
For  when  would  you,  my  Liege,  or  you,  or  you, 
In  leaden  contemplation,  have  found  out 
Such  fiery  numbers  as  the  prompting  eyes 
Of  beauteous  tutors  have  enriched  you  with  ? 
Other  slow  arts  entirely  keep  the  brain, 
And  therefore,  finding  barren  practicers, 
Scarce  show  a  harvest  of  their  heavy  toil ; 
But  love,  first  learned  in  a  lady's  eyes, 
Lives  not  alone  immurM  in  the  brain, 
But,  with  the  motion  of  all  elements, 
Courses  as  swift  as  thought  in  every  power, 
And  gives  to  every  power  a  double  power, 
Above  their  functions  and  their  offices. 
It  adds  a  precious  seeing  to  the  eye ; 
A  lover's  eyes  will  gaze  an  eagle  blind ; 
A  lover's  ear  will  hear  the  lowest  sound, 
When  the  suspicious  head  of  theft  is  stopped. 
Love's  feeling  is  more  soft  and  sensible 
Than  are  the  tender  horns  of  cockled  snails ; 

SCH.  IN  COM.  —  5 


66  WILLIAM  SHAKSPEAEE 

Love's  tongue  proves  dainty  Bacchus  gross  in  taste. 

For  valor  is  not  love  a  Hercules, 

Still  climbing  trees  in  the  Hesperides  ? 

Subtle  as  sphinx  ;  as  sweet  and  musical 

As  bright  Apollo's  lute,  strung  with  his  hair  ; 

And  when  love  speaks,  the  voice  of  all  the  gods 

Makes  heaven  drowsy  with  the  harmony. 

Never  durst  poet  touch  a  pen  to  write, 

Until  his  ink  were  tempered  with  love's  sighs. 

O,  then  his  lines  would  ravish  savage  ears, 

And  plant  in  tyrants  mild  humility. 

From  women's  eyes  this  doctrine  I  derive. 
They  sparkle  still  the  right  Promethean  fire  ; 
They  are  the  books,  the  arts,  the  academes 
That  show,  contain,  and  nourish  all  the  world ; 
Else,  none  at  all  in  aught  proves  excellent ; 
Then  fools  you  were  these  women  to  forswear  ; 
Or,  keeping  what  is  sworn,  you  will  prove  fools. 
For  wisdom's  sake,  a  word  that  all  men  love  — 
Or  for  love's  sake,  a  word  that  loves  all  men  — 
Or  for  men's  sake,  the  authors  of  these  women — 
Or  women's  sake,  by  whom  we  men  are  men  — 
Let  us  once  lose  our  oaths  to  find  ourselves, 
Or  else  we  lose  ourselves  to  keep  our  oaths. 

THE    OLD-TIME    HORN-BOOK  l 

Armado  [to  Holofernes],     Are  you  not  lettered  ? 
Moth.     Yes,  yes,  he  teaches  boys  the  horn-book. 
What  is  a  6,  spelt  backward,  with  a  horn  on  his  head  ? 

1  In  the  days  when  books  were  expensive,  the  "reading  books"  for  little 
children  were  rendered  more  durable  by  a  cover  of  transparent  horn,  placed  over 
the  page  in  use.  (Glass  was  too  rare  and  costly  to  be  used  for  this  purpose.) 

"  The  books  of  stature  small  they  take  in  band, 
Whicb  with  pellucid  horn  secured  are, 
To  save  from  fingers  wet  the  letters  fair."  —  HIIBN  STONE. 

"  Neatly  secured  from  being  soiled  or  torn, 
Beneath  a  pane  of  thin,  translucent  horn, 
A  book,"  etc.  —  COWPER. 


KING  FERDINAND'S  ACADEMY  67 

Holof ernes.     Ba,  pueritia  [simplicity],  with  a  horn  added. 
Moth.      Ba !  Most  silly  sheep,  with  a  horn.     You  hear  his 
learning. 

VOWELS    AND    PRONOUNS 

Holof  ernes.     Quis,  quis  [who,  who] ,  thou  consonant  ? 
Moth.     The  third  of  the  five  vowels,  if  you  repeat  them  :   or 

the  fifth,  if  I. 

Holof  ernes.     I  will  repeat  them,  a,  e,  i  — 
Moth.     The  sheep  ;  the  other  two  concludes  it,  0,  u. 

COSTARD'S  FAULTY  LATIN 

Costard.  Thou  hast  it  ad  dunghill,  at  the  fingers'  ends,  as 
they  say. 

Holof  ernes.  O,  I  smell  false  Latin;  "  dunghill, "  for  un- 
guem.1 

THE    HANDSOME    SCRIPT    OF    OLD    DATS 2 

Rosaline.     Oh,  he  hath  drawn  my  picture  in  his  letter. 
Katharine.     Fair  as  a  text  B  in  a  copy  book. 

THERE'S  NO  FOOL  LIKE  AN  OLD  FOOL 

Princess.     None    are    so    surely    caught    when    they    are 

catched, 

As  wit  turned  fool  ;  folly  in  wisdom  hatched 
Hath  wisdom's  warrant,  and  the  help  of  school, 
And  wit's  own  grace  to  grace  a  learned  fool. 

Rosaline.     The  blood  of  youth  burns  not  with  such  excess 
As  gravity's  revolt  to  wantonness. 

BIRON  REFORMS  HIS  SPEECH 

Biron.     O,  never  will  I  trust  to  speeches  penned, 
Nor  to  the  motion  of  a  schoolboy's  tongue, 

1  Ad  unguem  means,  literally,  to  the  nail.    Shakspeare  has  not  used  it  in 
its  classic  sense.     Among  the  ancients  it  signified  perfect  to  the  touch  of  the  nail. 
The  touch  of  the  finger  nail  was  a  test  of  the  finish  of  marble  surfaces. 

2  In  accordance  with  the  requirements  of  a  busy  age,  the  letters  of  script 
have  been  greatly  simplified.     B  was  one  of  the  most  elaborate  of  the  old-time 
script  letters. 


68  WILLIAM  SHAKSPEARE 

Nor  never  come  in  visor  to  my  friend, 

Nor  woo  in  rhyme,  like  a  blind  harper's  song  — 

Taffeta  phrases,  silken  terms  precise, 

Three-piled  hyperboles,  spruce  affectation, 

Figures  pedantical. 

I  do  forswear  them  ;  and  I  here  protest, 

By  this  white  glove  (how  white  the  hand,  God  knows), 

Henceforth  my  wooing  mind  shall  be  expressed 

In  russet  yeas  and  honest  Kersey  noes. 

HOW    HE   BEGAN    THE    REFORM 

Biron.     And,  to  begin,  wench,  so  God  help  me,  la  ! 
My  love  to  thee  is  sound,  sans  [without]  crack  or  flaw. 
Rosaline.     Sans  "saws,"  I  pray  you. 

AN   ARTIFICIAL   MAN 

Princess.     Doth  this  man  [Armado]  serve  God  ? 
.  Biron.     Why  ask  you  ? 

Princess.     He  speaks  not  like  a  man  of  God's  making. 

Armado.  That's  all  one,  my  fair,  sweet,  honey-monarch, 
for,  I  jprotest,  the  schoolmaster  is  exceeding  fantastical ;  top, 
too  vain  ;  too,  too  vain.  But  we  will  put  it,  as  they  say,  to 
fortuna  delta  guerra  [the  fortunes  of  war] . 

AN   EXHIBITION   AT    THE    "ACADEME" 

Holof ernes.  Sir,  you  shall  present  before  her  [the  Princess] 
the  Nine  Worthies1 —  Sir  Nathaniel,  as  concerning  some  enter- 
tainment of  time,  some  show  in  the  posterior  of  this  day,  to  be 
rendered  by  our  assistance  —  the  King's  command,  and  this 
most  gallant,  illustrate,  and  learned  gentleman  —  before  the 
Princess  ;  I  say,  none  so  fit  as  to  present  the  Nine  Worthies. 

1  The  Nine  Worthies,  as  commonly  reckoned,  include  three  Jews,  three 
Gentiles,  and  three  Christians.  The  Jews  are  Joshua  and  King  David  of  Scrip- 
ture history,  with  Judas  Maccabseus,  or  Machabseus,  a  hero  of  the  Apocrypha ; 
the  Gentiles  are  Julius  Caesar,  Alexander  the  Great,  and  Hector  the  Trojan  ; 
the  Christians  are  Arthur  of  Britain,  Godfrey  of  Bouillon,  and  Charlemagne. 


KING  FERDINAND'S  ACADEMY  69 

Sir  Nathaniel.  Where  will  you  find  men  worthy  enough  to 
present  them  ? 

Holof ernes.  Joshua,  yourself ;  myself  or  this  gallant  gentle- 
man, Judas  Machabaeus ;  this  swain,  because  of  his  great 
limb  or  joint,  shall  pass  for  Pompey  the  Great ;  the  page, 
Hercules.1 

A   SMALL    HERCULES 

Armado.  Pardon,  sir,  error ;  he  is  not  quantity  enough  for 
that  Worthy's  thumb.  He  is  not  so  big  as  the  end  of  his  club. 

Holof  ernes.  Shall  I  have  audience?  He  shall  present  Her- 
cules in  minority.  His  enter  and  exit  shall  be  strangling  a  snake  ; 
and  I  will  have  an  apology  [explanation]  for  that  purpose. 

THE   MODEST   SCHOOLMASTER 

Armado.     For  the  rest  of  the  Worthies? 
Holof  ernes.     I  will  play  three  myself. 

THE    KING'S    RECKONING 

King.     He  [Armado]  presents  Hector  of  Troy  ;  the  swain, 
Pompey  the  Great ;  the  parish  curate,  Alexander  ;  Armado's 
page,  Hercules  ;  the  pedant,  Judas  Machabseus. 
And  if  these  four  Worthies  in  their  first  show  thrive, 
These  four  will  change  habits  and  present  the  other  five. 

BIRON'S    ENUMERATION 

Biron.     There  is  five  in  the  first  show. 
King.     You  are  deceived;  'tis  not  so. 

Biron.  The  pedant,  the  braggart,  the  hedge-priest,  the  fool, 
and  the  boy. 

Abate  a  throw  at  novum  [nine]  —  and  the  whole  world  again 
Cannot  pick  out  five  such,  take  each  one  in  his  vein. 

1  Pompey,  the  Roman  hero,  and  Hercules,  of  the  Grecian  mythology,  are  here 
given  a  place  among  "  The  Nine  Worthies."  Hercules  is  said  to  have  strangled 
serpents  in  his  cradle. 


70  WILLIAM  SHAKSPEARE 

COSTARD'S  PERFORMANCE 
(Enter  Costard,  armed,  for  Pompey.) 

Costard.     I Pompey  am,  — 

Boyet.     You  lie,  you  are  not  he. 

Costard.     I  Pompey  am,  — 

Boyet.     With  libbard's  [leopard's]  head  on  knee. 

Biron.     Well  said,  old  mocker;  I  must  needs  be  friends  with 
thee. 

Costard.     I  Pompey  am,  Pompey,  surnamed  the  big  (/) 

Dumain.     The  G-reat. 

Costard.     It  is  Great,  sir  ;  —  Pompey,  surnamed  the   G-reat, 
That  oft  in  field,  with  targe  and  shield,  did  make  my  foe  to  sweat ; 
And  traveling  along  this  coast  I  here  am  come  by  chance, 
And  lay  my  arms  before  the  legs  (/)  of  this  sweet  lass  of  France. 
If  your  Ladyship  would  say  "  Thanks,  Pompey,"  I  had  done. 

Princess.     Great  thanks,  great  Pompey. 

MOTH'S    PERFORMANCE 

(Enter  Holofernes,  armed,  for  Judas  ;  and  Moth,  armed,  for 

Hercules.*) 

Holofernes.     G-reat  Hercules  is  presented  by  this  imp, 
Whose  club  killed  Cerberus,1  that  three-headed  canus  [dog] . 
And  when  he  was  a  babe,  a  child,  a  shrimp, 
Thus  did  he  strangle  serpents  in  his  manus  [hands]. 
Quoniam  [since]  he  seemeth  in  minority, 
Ergo  [therefore]  /  come  with  this  apology. 
Keep  some  state  in  thy  exit,  and  vanish.  (Exit  Moth.) 

HOW    THE   SCHOOLMASTER    WAS    "BAITED"2 

Holofernes.     Judas  lam  — 
Dumain.     A  Judas  ! 

1  Cerberus,  in  classic  mythology,  was  a  three-headed  dog. 

2  The  "  hazing  "  scene,  which  follows,  could  hardly  be  described.    Besides  the 
spoken  words  of  the  text,  must  be  imagined  the  sneers,  laughter,  hootings,  and 
nondescript  insults  with  which  the  unhappy  schoolmaster  was  "  baited." 


KING  FERDINAND'S  ACADEMY  71 

Holof  ernes.     Not  Iscariot,  sir.    Judas  I  am,  ycleped  Macha- 
bceus. 

Dumain.     Judas  Machabaeus  dipt  is  plain  Judas. 

Biron.     A  kissing  traitor.     How  art  thou  proved  Judas  ! 

Holof  ernes.     Judas  I  am  — 

Dumain.     The  more  shame  for  you,  Judas  ! 

Holof  ernes.     What  mean  you,  sir  ? 

Boyet.     To  make  Judas  hang  himself. 

Holof  ernes.     Begin,  sir,  you  are  my  elder. 

Biron.     Well  followed.     Judas  was  hanged  on  an  elder. 

Holof  ernes.     I  will  not  be  put  out  of  countenance. 

Biron.     Because  thou  hast  no  face. 

Holof  ernes  [pointing  to  hisface~\.     What  is  this? 

Boyet.     A  cittern-head. 

Dumain.     The  head  of  a  bodkin. 

Biron.     A  death's  face  in  a  ring. 

Longaville.     The  face  of  an  old  Roman  coin,  scarce  seen. 

Boyet.     The  pummel  of  Csesar's  falchion. 

Dumain.     The  carved  bone  face  on  a  flask. 

Biron.     St.  George's  half-cheek  in  a  brooch. 

Dumain.     Ay,  and  in  a  brooch  of  lead. 

Biron.     Ay,  and  worn  in  the  cap  of  a  toothdrawer.      And 
now,  forward !  for  we  have  put  thee  in  countenance. 

Holof  ernes.     You  have  put  me  out  of  countenance. 

Biron.     False.     We  have  given  thee  faces. 

Holof  ernes.     But  you  have  outfaced  them  all. 

Biron.     And  thou  wert  a  lion,  we  would  do  so. 

Boyet.     Therefore,  as  he  is  an  ass,  let  him  go. 
And  so,  adieu,  sweet  Jude  !  nay,  why  dost  thou  stay  ? 

Dumain.     For  the  latter  end  of  his  name. 

Biron.     For  the  ass  to  the  jude.      Give  it  him.     Jud-as, 
away. 

Holof  ernes.     This  is  not  generous,  not  gentle,  not  humble. 

Boyet.     A   light   for  Monsieur  Judas.     It  grows  dark ;   he 
may  stumble. 

Princess.     Alas,  poor  Machabseus,  how  hath  he  been  baited  1 


72  WILLIAM  SHAKSPEARE 

BIRON'S    PENANCE   AND    REFORMATION 

Biron.     Studies  my  Lady  ?     Mistress,  look  on  me, 
Behold  the  window  of  my  heart,  mine  eye, 
What  humble  suit  attends  thy  answer  there  ; 
Impose  some  service  on  me  for  thy  love. 

Rosaline.     Oft  have  I  heard  of  you,  my  Lord  Biron, 
Before  I  saw  you  ;  and  the  world's  large  tongue 
Proclaims  you  for  a  man  replete  with  mocks  ; 
Full  of  comparisons  and  wounding  flouts, 
Which  you  on  all  estates  will  execute, 
That  lie  within  the  mercy  of  your  wit ; 
To  weed  this  wormwood  from  your  fruitful  brain, 
And,  therewithal,  to  win  me,  if  you  please 
You  shall  this  twelvemonth  term  from  day  to  day 
Visit  the  speechless  sick,  and  still  converse 
With  groaning  wretches  ;  and  your  task  shall  be, 
With  all  the  fierce  endeavor  of  your  wit, 
To  enforce  the  pained  impotent  to  smile. 

Biron.     To  move  Avild  laughter  in  the  throat  of  death  ? 
It  cannot  be  ;  it  is  impossible  ! 
Mirth  cannot  move  a  soul  in  agony. 

Rosaline.     Why,  that's  the  way  to  choke  a  gibing  spirit 
Whose  influence  is  begot  of  that  loose  grace 
Which  shallow  laughing  hearers  give  to  fools. 
A  jest's  prosperity  lies  in  the  ear 
Of  him  that  hears  it,  never  in  the  tongue 
Of  him  that  makes  it ,  then,  if  sickly  ears, 
Deafed  with  the  clamors  of  their  own  dear  groans, 
Will  hear  your  idle  scorns,  continue  then, 
And  I  will  have  you,  and  that  fault  withal ; 
But  if  they  will  not,  throw  away  that  spirit, 
And  I  shall  find  you  empty  of  that  fault, 
Right  joyful  of  your  reformation. 

Biron.     A  twelvemonth  ?     Well,  befall  what  will  befall, 
I'll  jest  a  twelvemonth  in  an  hospital. 


FENELON,  THE   MENTOR 

THERE  is  a  juvenile  book  which  is  translated  into  every  considerable 
language  of  modern  Europe  —  even  into  the  Turkish  and  the  modern 
Greek  —  and  is  read  by  boys  and  girls  from  Lisbon  to  Novgorod,  and  from 
Stockholm  to  Athens.  Art  is  exhausted  in  embellishing  this  treasured 
volume.  Yet  it  is  a  very  old  book,  and  the  scenes  which  it  describes  belong 
to  a  period  many  centuries  before  the  time  of  Christ. 

That  such  work  is  still  read  is  due  in  part  to  the  marvelously  perfect  style 
in  which  it  is  written  —  which  is  the  despair  of  imitators  —  and  in  part  to 
its  value  to  the  educational  world,  as  a  book  of  inspiration  to  pupils  and  to 
teachers. 

The  book  possesses  a  sentimental  interest,  since  it  is  associated  with  the 
training  of  a  boy  who  was  the  hope  of  France,  and  who,  had  he  lived,  might 
have  changed  the  history  of  Europe  in  the  last  two  centuries.  It  was  not 
ordered  that  this  should  be ;  but  the  student  of  history  reflects  with  interest 
upon  the  vast  possibilities  which  were  centered  in  the  Prince  whose  charac- 
ter was  molded,  and  whose  mind  was  broadened,  by  the  tutelage  of  such 
a  mentor  as  the  author  of  Tele'maque  (ta-la-mahc'). 

It  is  the  desire  of  every  student  of  the  French  language  to  read  this 
charming  classic.  Indeed,  the  best  of  English  versions  are  far  inferior  in 
style  to  the  original  work.  The  book  is  long,  and,  as  a  whole,  is  familiar 
to  but  few  readers  in  the  United  States,  though  most  students  and  teachers 
are  always  interested  in  its  history,  and  the  endearing  word  mentor,  which 
we  have  derived  from  it,  is  in  familiar  use. 

The  English  form  of  the  classic  name  Telemaque  (which  is  taken  from 
Homer's  Iliad)  is  Telem'  achus ;  but  in  these  pages  the  French  form  is 
retained,  as  more  appropriate  to  a  work  and  a  character  so  purely  the  crea- 
tion of  French  genius. 

Francois  de  Salignac,  son  of  the  Marquis  of  Fenelon  (fa-n'-lon'),  was 
born  in  his  father's  castle,  in  what  is  now  the  Department  of  Dordogne, 
France,  in  1651.  He  was  carefully  educated  for  the  church,  and  at  the  age 
of  twenty  was  perhaps  the  most  eloquent  pulpit  orator  in  Paris.  Appointed 
to  reestablish  the  power  of  the  church  in  a  district  which  had  become 
largely  Protestant,  he  was  distinguished  for  his  moderation  in  speech  and 
in  action.  After  serving  in  various  positions  of  ecclesiastical  preferment, 

73 


74  FtfNELON 

he  was  made  Archbishop  of  Cambray.  He  died  in  1715.  His  life  and 
death  were  a  beautiful  exemplification  of  Christian  character.  King  Louis 
XIV.,  who  had  persecuted  him  with  expressions  of  ill-will,  exclaimed  on 
learning  of  the  archbishop's  death : 

"  Alas,  we  have  lost  him,  when  we  require  him  most !  " 
Fe"nelon's  greatest  service  to  mankind  grew  out  of  his  appointment  —  at 
the  age  of  thirty-eight  —  to  be  tutor  to  the  young  Duke  of  Burgundy,  grand- 
son of  the  King,  and  heir  presumptive  of  the  throne  of  France.  The  tutor's 
task  was  such  as  comes  to  but  few.  He  developed  his  idea  of  a  school  of 
one  pupil  in  the  composition  of  a  prose  epic,  which  was  unique  in  literature. 
Taking  for  his  subject  Telemaque  (the  son  of  Ulysses,  the  Greek  hero),  who 
is  represented  by  Homer  as  having  for  his  guardian  the  sage  Mentor,  —  an 
incarnation  of  the  goddess  Athena,  —  Fenelon  follows  the  young  Prince  in 
a  tour  of  the  ancient  world,  and  weaves  into  his  story  the  lore  of  ancient 
epics  and  tragedies.1  The  Telemaque  became  a  sort  of  secular  Pilgrim's 
Progress,  and  was  read  and  admired  in  every  European  nation.  It  is  the 
classic  model  of  a  large  class  of  writings.  In  our  own  country  Jacob  Abbott, 
who  has  largely  influenced  American  character  and  education,  availed  him- 
self of  the  idea  of  the  work  to  write  various  series  of  books  of  travel,  in 
which  he  portrayed  the  mental  and  moral  training  of  supposititious  youths, 
each  pursuing  his  travels  and  his  studies  under  the  care  of  an  elder  com- 
panion, or  mentor.  Fe"nelon's  success  as  a  tutor  has  been  thus  described  : 

"  Confidence  creates  responsibility ;  and  the  more  honorable  the  circum- 
stances which  distinguish  any  trust  conferred  on  the  individual,  the  greater 
must  be  his  solicitude  to  discharge  it  in  such  a  manner  as  not  to  disappoint 
the  expectations  of  others.  But  this  feeling  was  among  the  least  of  those 
difficulties  which  Fe"nelon  had  undertaken  to  surmount.  The  Prince  whose 
moral  as  well  as  literary  education  he  was  appointed  to  conduct  had  attained 
to  an  age  at  which  the  human  disposition  is  in  some  measure  fixed ;  when 
the  passions,  inflamed  by  early  indulgence,  have  become  obstinate  through 
habit.  His  pupil,  who  had  already  learned  his  individual  importance  in 
the  state,  and  who  seemed  in  imagination  a  monarch,  was  haughty,  pre- 
sumptuous, irritable,  untractable,  confident  of  being  right,  unaccustomed  to 
contradiction,  and  impatient  of  control.  lie  found  himself  born  to  dictate 
obedience  to  others,  and  accordingly  viewed  himself  as  exempted  from  any 
necessity  to  regulate  and  govern  his  own  inclinations.  Fenelon,  however, 
had  prepared  the  only  system  of  tuition  calculated  to  affect  and  improve. 
He  aimed  not  merely  at  scientific  instruction,  but  at  moral  amelioration  — 

1  Educators  have  become  generally  aware  of  the  value  of  narratives  of  travel 
—  real  or  imaginary  —  in  the  teaching  of  geography  and  history.  The  plan  of 
Fenelon,  varied  in  a  thousand  ways,  is  now  an  essential  element  in  the  teach- 
ing of  these  subjects  in  representative  schools. 


FtfNELON  75 

fie  aspired  to  the  formation  of  character.1  His  first  step  was  to  touch  the 
heart  of  his  royal  disciple,  and  then  to  acquire  his  esteem  and  confidence. 
He  knew  that  a  preceptor  must  seek  to  be  loved,  if  he  would  be  listened  to 
with  delight.  He  therefore  divested  teaching  of  its  formality,  and  rendered 
that  at  first  desirable,  which  should  at  last  be  considered  indispensable. 
He  was  the  Mentor  of  his  Telemaque."  2 

Perhaps  no  compilation  of  literature  relating  to  teachers  would  be  con- 
sidered representative  that  should  omit  the  inimitable  classic  of  Fenelon. 
The  school  of  one  pupil  may  often  prove  the  most  difficult  to  teach  aright. 
To  the  educational  world  the  Archbishop's  labor  of  love  is  a  legacy  of  great 
moral  power  and  beauty. 

"  Born  at  the  beginning  of  the  second  half  of  the  great  century  which  he 
served  in  no  small  measure  to  render  illustrious,  Fenelon  was  one  of  the 
last  representatives  of  that  classic  epoch,  and  he  preceded  Louis  XIV.  to 
the  tomb  by  only  a  few  months.  Member  of  the  French  Academy,  Arch- 
bishop of  Cambray,  the  illustrious  writer  owes  to  his  immortal  Telemaque 
his  characterization  as  '  the  Racine  of  Prose.'  This  chef  d'ceuvre  of  poetic 
style,  of  morals,  and  of  politics,  was  composed  for  the  education  of  the 
Duke  of  Burgundy,  of  whom  Fenelon  was  the  worthy  preceptor.  .  .  .  His 
Fables,  full  of  eloquence,  of  grace,  and  of  naturalness,  as  also  his  Dialogues 
of  the  Dead,  wherein  lofty  moral  lessons  are  concealed  under  familiar  and 
interesting  discussions  of  illustrious  personages  of  history,  were  to  the  same 
end.  Fenelon  is  the  first  of  all  the  French  prose  writers,  by  reason  of  his  • 
pure,  flowing,  harmonious  style,  full  of  grace  and  of  imagination." 

—  EDWARD  H.  MAGILL. 

1  The  use  of  moral  tales  for  the  cultivation  of  character  in  the  schoolroom  is 
of  great  importance.     This  fact  is  fully  recognized  in  the  best  schools  of  the 
present  day.     The  subject  is  presented  at  length  in  a  recent  work  by  a  leading 
American  pedagogist,  —  School  Management,  by  Dr.  E.  E.  White. 

2  All  who  read  the  Telemaque  are  naturally  interested  to  learn  the  fate  of  the 
young  Duke  for  whom  it  was  written.    The  following  is  taken  from  a  sketch  by 
Eugene  Lawrence : 

"  When  the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  the  Dauphin's  eldest  son,  and  heir  to  the 
crown,  had  married,  amidst  pageants  of  unprecedented  splendor,  Mary  of  Savoy, 
that  amiable  but  heedless  Princess  had  won  the  regard  of  Louis  (the  King)  ;  and 
the  good  qualities  of  the  young  Duke,  who  had  been  educated  under  Fenelon, 
•seemed  to  promise  a  happier  era  for  the  suffering  people.  Two  sons  were  born  to 
Mary  ;  and  the  family  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  formed  a  center  of  promise  in  the 
corrupt  atmosphere  of  Versailles.  Death  now  descended  upon  the  guilty  court,  at- 
tended by  all  the  horrors  of  suspicion  and  doubt.  The  Dauphin  was  seized  with 
smallpox,  and  died.  Louis  fainted  in  an  agony  of  grief,  but  fled  hastily  from 
the  infected  chamber.  His  courtiers  followed  him,  and  the  heir  of  the  French 
throne  was  buried  in  haste,  with  only  a  few  strangers  to  attend  his  funeral.  In 
February,  1712,  a  box  of  Spanish  snuff  was  presented  to  Mary.  Soon  after,  she 


76  FtfNELON 

TELEMAQUE  AND  MENTOR 

(From  Ttlemaque) 
PRINCIPAL  PERSONAGES 

TELEMAQUE',  or  Telem'achus,  a  youth  of  sixteen  years  (the 
son  of  Ulys'ses,1  King  of  Ith'aca),  who  is  traversing  the  seas  in 
search  of  his  father,  whom  he  has  not  seen  since  early  infancy. 

MEN'TOR,  the  companion  of  Te'le'maque;  in  appearance,  an 
elderly  man  —  in  reality,  the  disguised  goddess  Athe'na 
(Miner 'va).  He  is  the  guardian  of  the  youth. 

CALYP'SO,  an  inferior  divinity  of  the  Greeks  (fabled  to 
reign  over  the  isle  of  Ogyg'ia2),  whose  unhappy  love  for 
Ulysses  and  Te'le'maque  —  successively  shipwrecked  upon  her 
shore  —  tempted  them  to  remain  away  from  home  and  from 
duty. 

NAUSIC 'RATES,  a  Cre'tan,  who  induced  Te'le'maque  to  enter 
the  lists  as  a  competitor  for  the  throne  of  Crete. 

died  delirious,  and  with  every  trace  of  poison.  Her  husband,  the  Duke,  soon 
after  perished  in  similar  torments.  Their  eldest  son  also  died.  The  Duke  de 
Berri,  second  son  of  the  Dauphin,  followed  next,  the  victim  of  his  own  wife. 
The  cry  of  poison  resounded  throughout  the  nation." 

1  The  Trojan  War  (in  which  Ulysses  was  a  leader  of  the  Greeks)  is  sepa- 
rated from  us  by  a  measureless  ocean  of  time.     No  one  pretends  to  know  when 
it  occurred,  though  all  agree  that  it  could  not  have  been  much  less  than  twelve 
centuries  before  the  time  of  Christ.     Many  have  deemed  it  a  purely  imaginary 
event.     Excavations  made  upon  the  supposed  site  of  Troy    (in  Asia  Minor) 
within   the  past  quarter-century  by  Dr.   Heinrich   Schliemann,   the  German 
traveler  and  archaeologist,  seem  to  confirm  much  of  the  account  of  the  siege  of 
that  city,  as  given  in  Homer's  Iliad.    The  war  is  said  to  have  lasted  ten  years. 
Ulysses  passed  as  many  more  in  his  wanderings,  on  his  homeward  journey,  * 
after  the  close  of  the  conflict.     Homer's  Iliad  relates  the  story  of  the  war ;  his 
Od'yssey  recounts  the  wanderings  of  Ulysses. 

2  It  will  perhaps  interest  the  reader  to  know  that  the  isle  of  Calypso,  formerly 
called  Ogyg'ia,  is  the  modern  Gozzo  (got'so)  in  the  Mediterranean  Sea.     It  is 
about  nine  miles  long,  and  half  as  broad.     It  lies  very  near  to  Malta,  which  is 
believed  to  be  the  scene  of  St.  Paul's  shipwreck  (see  Acts  xxii.).     Owing  to 
their  location,  Malta  and  Gozzo  are  important  as  naval  stations  of  the  British. 


TtfLtfMAQUE  AND  MENTOR  77 

Calypso  was  unable  to  console  herself  for  the  departure  of 
Ulysses;  and  she  regretted  her  immortality,  as  that  which 
could  only  perpetuate  affliction,  and  aggravate  calamity  by 
despair.  Her  grotto  no  more  echoed  with  the  music  of  her 
voice;  and  her  nymphs  waited  at  a  distance  with  timidity  and 
in  silence.  She  often  wandered  alone  along  the  borders  of  her 
island,  amidst  the  luxuriance  of  a  perpetual  spring;  and  the 
beauties  that  bloomed  around  her,  instead  of  soothing  her 
grief,  only  impressed  more  strongly  upon  her  mind  the  mem- 
ory of  Ulysses,  who  had  been  so  often  the  companion  of  her 
walks.  Sometimes  she  stood  motionless  upon  the  beach;  and 
while  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  that  part  of  the  horizon  where 
the  lessening  bark  of  the  hero  had  at  length  disappeared,  they 
overflowed  with  tears.  Here  she  was  one  day  surprised  by  the 
sudden  appearance  of  a  shipwreck.  Broken  benches  and  oars 
lay  scattered  about  upon  the  sand;  and  a  rudder,  a  mast,  and 
some  cordage  were  floating  near  the  shore.  Soon  after  she  per- 
ceived at  a  distance  two  men,  one  of  whom  appeared  to  be  old, 
and  in  the  other,  although  a  youth,  she  discovered  a  strong 
resemblance  to  Ulysses;  the  same  benevolence  and  dignity 
were  united  in  his  aspect,  his  stature  was  equally  tall,  and 
his  port  majestic.  The  goddess  knew  immediately  that  this 
was  Te'le'maque,  but  notwithstanding  the  penetration  of  divine 
sagacity,  she  could  not  discover  who  was  his  companion;  for 
it  is  the  perogative  of  superior  deities  to  conceal  \vhatever  they 
please  from  those  of  a  lower  class,  and  it  was  the  pleasure  of 
Minerva,  who  accompanied  Te'le'maque  in  the  likeness  of  Men- 
tor, to  be  concealed  from  Calypso.  Calypso,  however,  rejoiced 
in  the  happy  shipwreck,  which  had  restored  Ulysses  to  her 
wishes,  in  the  person  of  his  son.  She  advanced  to  meet  him; 
and  affecting  not  to  know  him: 

"How  hast  thou  presumed,"  said  she,  "to  land  on  this 
island?  Knowest  thou  not  that  from  my  dominions  no  daring 
intruder  departs  unpunished?  " 

By  this  menace  she  hoped  to  conceal  the  joy  which  glowed 
in  her  bosom,  and  which  she  could  not  prevent  from  sparkling 
in  her  countenance. 


78  FtfNELON 

"Whoever  thou  art,"  replied  Te'le'maque,  "whether  thou 
art  indeed  a  goddess,  or  whether,  with  all  the  appearance  of 
divinity,  thou  art  yet  mortal,  canst  thou  regard  with  insensi- 
bility the  misfortunes  of  a  son  who,  committing  his  life  to  the 
caprice  of  the  winds  and  waves  in  search  of  a  father,  has  suf- 
fered shipwreck  against  these  rocks  ?  ' ' 

"Who,  then,  is  thy  father,  whom  thou  seekest?"  inquired 
the  goddess. 

"  He  is  one  of  the  confederate  Kings,"  answered  Te'le'maque, 
"who,  after  a  siege  of  ten  years,  laid  Troy  in  ashes;  and  his 
name  is  Ulys'ses  —  a  name  which  he  has  rendered  famous  by  his 
prowess,  and  yet  more  by  his  wisdom,  not  only  through  all 
Greece,  but  to  the  remotest  boundaries  of  Asia.  This  Ulysses, 
the  mighty  and  the  wise,  is  now  a  wanderer  on  the  deep,  the 
sport  of  tempests  which  no  force  can  resist,  and  the  prey  of 
dangers  which  no  sagacity  can  elude.  His  country  seems  to 
fly  before  him.  Penel'ope,  his  wife,  despairs  at  Ithaca  of  his 
return ;  and  I,  though  equally  destitute  of  hope,  pursue  him 
through  all  the  perils  that  he  has  passed,  and  seek  him  upon 
every  coast.  I  seek  him,  but  alas  !  perhaps  the  sea  has  already 
closed  over  him  forever !  O  goddess,  compassion  upon  our 
distress;  and  if  thou  knowest  what  the  fates  have  wrought, 
either  to  save  or  to  destroy  Ulysses,  vouchsafe  this  knowledge 
to  Te'le'maque,  his  son !  " 

Such  force  of  eloquence,  such  maturity  of  wisdom,  and  such 
blooming  youth,  filled  the  bosom  of  Calypso  with  astonishment 
and  tenderness.  She  gazed  upon  him  with  a  fixed  attention; 
but  her  eyes  were  still  unsatisfied,  and  she  remained  some  time 
silent.  At  length  she  said  : 

"We  will  acquaint  Te'le'maque  with  the  adventures  of  his 
father,  but  the  story  will  be  long;  it  is  now  time  that  you 
should  repair  by  rest  that  strength  which  has  been  exhausted 
by  labor.  I  will  receive  you  to  my  dwelling,  as  my  son;  you 
shall  be  my  comfort  in  this  solitude;  and  if  you  are  not  volun- 
tarily wretched,  I  will  be  your  happiness." 

T£le"maque  followed  the  goddess,  who  was  encircled  by  a 


TtfLtiMAQUE    AND    MENTOR  79 

crowd  of  young  nymphs,  among  whom  she  was  distinguished 
by  the  superiority  of  her  stature,  as  the  towering  summit  of  a 
lofty  oak  is  seen  in  the  midst  of  a  forest,  above  all  the  trees 
that  surround  it.  He  was  struck  with  the  splendor  of  her 
beauty,  the  rich  purple  of  her  long  and  flowing  robe,  her  hair, 
that  was  tied  with  graceful  negligence  behind  her,  and  the 
vivacity  and  softness  that  were  mingled  in  her  eyes.  Mentor 
followed  Te'le'maque,  modestly  silent,  and  looking  downward. 
When  they  arrived  at  the  entrance  of  the  grotto,  Te'le'maque 
was  surprised  to  discover,  under  the  appearance  of  rural  sim- 
plicity, whatever  could  captivate  the  sight.  There  was,  in- 
deed, neither  gold  nor  silver,  nor  yet  marble;  no  decorated 
columns,  no  paintings,  no  statues  were  to  be  seen;  but  the 
grotto  consisted  of  several  vaults  cut  in  the  rock;  the  roof  was 
embellished  with  shells  and  pebbles,  and  the  want  of  tapestry 
was  supplied  by  the  luxuriance  of  a  young  vine,  which  ex- 
tended its  branches  equally  on  every  side.  Here  the  heat  of  the 
sun  was  tempered  by  the  freshness  of  the  breeze;  the  rivulets, 
that  with  soothing  murmurs  wandered  through  meadows  of 
intermingled  violets  and  amaranth,  formed  innumerable  baths 
that  were  pure  and  transparent  as  crystal;  the  verdant  carpet 
which  nature  had  spread  round  the  grotto  was  adorned  with  a 
thousand  flowers;  and  at  a  small  distance  there,  was  a  wood  of 
those  trees  that  in  every  season  unfold  new  blossoms,  which 
diffuse  ambrosial  fragrance,  and  ripen  into  'golden  fruit.  In 
this  wood,  which  was  impervious  to  the  rays  of  the  sun,  and 
heightened  the  beauty  of  the  adjacent  meadows  by  an  agree- 
able opposition  of  light  and  shade,  nothing  was  to  be  heard 
but  the  melody  of  birds  or  the  fall  of  water,  which,  precipi- 
tated from  the  summit  of  a  rock,  was  dashed  into  foam 
below,  where,  forming  a  small  rivulet,  it  glided  hastily  over 
the  meadow. 

The  goddess,  having  displayed  this  profusion  of  beauty  to 
Te'le'maque,  dismissed  him. 

"Go,  now,"  said  she,  "and  refresh  yourself,  and  change 
your  apparel,  which  is  wet.  I  will  afterwards  see  you  again, 


80  FtfNELON 

and  relate  such  things  as  shall  not  only  amuse  your  ear,  but  also 
affect  your  heart." 

She  then  caused  him  to  enter,  with  his  friend,  into  the  most 
secret  recess  of  a  grotto  adjoining  her  own.  Here  the  nymphs 
had  already  kindled  a  fire  with  some  billets  of  cedar,  which 
perfumed  the  place,  and  had  left  changes  of  apparel  for 
the  new  guests.  Te'le'maque,  perceiving  that  a  tunic  of  the 
finest  wool,  whiter  than  snow,  and  a  purple  robe  richly  em- 
broidered with  gold  were  intended  for  him,  contemplated  the 
magnificence  of  his  dress  with  a  pleasure  into  which  young 
minds  are  easily  betrayed. 

Mentor  perceived  his  weakness,  and  reproved  it. 

"Are  these,  then,"  said  he,  "O  Te'le'maque,  such  thoughts 
as  become  the  son  of  Ulysses?  Be  thou,  rather,  studious  to 
appropriate  the  character  of  thy  father,  and  to  surmount  the 
persecutions  of  fortune.  The  youth  who,  like  a  vain  woman, 
loves  to  adorn  his  person,  .has  renounced  all  claims  to  wisdom 
and  to  glory.  Glory  is  due  to  those,  only,  who  dare  to  associ- 
ate with  pain,  and  have  trampled  pleasure  under  their  feet." 

Te'le'maque  answered  with  a  sigh  : 

"  May  the  gods  destroy  me,  rather  than  suffer  me  to  be 
enslaved  by  voluptuous  effeminacy  !  No ;  the  son  of  Ulysses 
shall  never  be  seduced  by  the  charms  of  enervating  and  inglori- 
ous ease.  But  how  gracious  is  Heaven,  to  have  directed  us, 
destitute  and  shipwrecked,  to  this  goddess  or  mortal,  who  has 
loaded  us  with  benefits." 

"Fear,  rather,"  replied  Mentor,  "lest  her  wiles  should  over- 
whelm thee  with  ruin  ;  fear  her  deceitful  blandishments  more 
than  the  rocks  on  which  thou  has  suffered  shipwreck  ;  for  ship- 
wreck and  death  are  less  dreadful  than  those  pleasures  by  which 
virtue  is  subverted.  Believe  not  the  tales  which  she  will 
relate.  The  presumption  of  youth  hopes  all  things  from  itself, 
and,  however  impotent,  believes  it  has  power  over  every  event ; 
it  dreams  of  security  in  the  midst  of  danger,  and  listens  to 
subtle  wit  without  suspicion.  Beware  of  the  seducing  elo- 
quence of  Calypso,  that  mischief  which,  like  a  serpent,  is  con- 


TELEMAQUE   AND    MENTOR  81 

cealed  by  the  flowers  under  which  it  approaches.  Dread  the 
latent  poison.  Trust  not  thyself,  but  confide  implicitly  in  my 
counsel." 

They  then  returned  to  Calypso,  who  waited  for  them  ;  and 
her  nymphs,  who  were  dressed  in  white,  and  had  their  hair 
braided,  set  before  them  a  repast  which,  though  it  was  simple, 
and  consisted  only  of  such  game  as  they  had  either  taken  with 
their  nets  or  killed  in  the  chase,  was  yet  of  exquisite  taste,  and 
served  up  with  the  utmost  elegance.  Wine,  more  richly  flavored 
than  nectar,  was  poured  from  large  silver  vases,  and  sparkled 
in  cups  of  gold  that  were  wreathed  with  flowers ;  and  baskets 
were  heaped  with  all  the  variety  of  fruit  that  is  promised  by 
spring  and  bestowed  by  autumn.  In  the  mean  time,  four  of 
the  attendant  nymphs  began  to  sing.  Their  first  theme  was 
the  battle  of  the  gods  and  Titans ;  then  they  celebrated  the 
loves  of  Jupiter  and  Sem'ele  ;  the  birth  of  Bac'chus,  and  his 
education  under  old  Sile'nus ;  the  race  of  Atalanta,  with  Hip- 
pom'enes,  whom  she  conquered  with  golden  apples  that  were 
gathered  in  the  garden  of  the  Hesper'ides.  The  wars  of  Troy 
were  reserved  to  the  last ;  the  prowess  and  the  wisdom  of 
Ulysses  were  extolled  with  all  the  hyperbole  of  praise,  and  the 
principal  nymph,  whose  name  was  Leucoth'oe,  to  the  harmoni- 
ous voices  of  the  chorus  joined  the  music  of  her  lyre.  When 
Teldmaque  heard  the  name  of  his  father,  the  tears  which  stole 
down  his  cheeks  added  new  luster  to  his  beauty ;  but  Calypso, 
perceiving  that  he  was  too  sensibly  touched,  and  neglected  to 
eat,  made  a  signal  to  her  nymphs,  and  they  immediately  changed 
the  subject  to  the  battle  of  the  Centaurs  with  the  Laph'ithse,  and 
the  descent  of  Orpheus  to  bring  back  his  Euryd'ice  from  Hades. 

When  the  repast  was  ended,  Calypso  took  Te'le'maque  aside, 
and  addressed  him  thus  : 

"Thou  seest,  O  son  of  the  great  Ulysses,  with  what  favor 
I  have  received  thee.  Know  that  I  am  immortal.  No  human 
foot  profanes  this  island  unpunished  ;  nor  could  even  shipwreck 
have  averted  my  indignation  from  thee,  if  my  heart  were  not 
touched  with  more  than  thy  misfortunes.  Thy  father  was 

8CH.  IN  COM. 6 


82  FtfNELON 

equally  distinguished  by  my  favor  ;  but  alas  !  he  knew  not 
how  to  improve  the  advantage.  I  detained  him  long  in  this 
asylum  ;  and  here  he  might  have  lived  forever,  in  a  state  of 
immortality  with  me ;  but  a  fond  desire  of  returning  to  his 
wretched  island  blinded  him  to  the  prospect  of  superior  felicity. 
Thou  seest  what  he  has  lost  for  Ithaca,  a  country  to  which  he 
can  never  return.  He  resolved  to  leave  me,  and  departed ; 
but  a  tempest  revenged  the  insult,  and  the  vessel  in  which  he 
was  embarked,  having  been  long  the  sport  of  the  storm,  was  at 
last  swallowed  up  in  the  deep.  Let  this  example  influence  thy 
conduct.  All  hopes  of  again  seeing  thy  father,  and  of  succeed- 
ing to  his  throne,  are  now  at  an  end  ;  but  do  not  too  deeply 
regret  his  loss,  since  thou  hast  found  a  goddess,  who  offers 
thee  superior  dominion,  and  more  permanent  happiness." 

Calypso,  perceiving  that  it  was  not  now  her  interest  to  press 
him  further,  feigned  to  participate  in  his  sorrow,  and  to  regret 
the  fate  of  Ulysses;  but  that  she  might  gain  a  more  perfect 
knowledge  of  the  means  by  which  his  affections  were  to  be 
engaged,  she  inquired  the  particulars  of  his  shipwreck,  and  by 
what  accident  he  had  been  thrown  upon  her  coast. 

' '  The  story  of  my  misfortunes, ' '  said  he,  ' '  will  be  too  long. ' ' 

"However  long,"  said  Calypso,  "I  am  impatient  to  hear 
it;  indulge  me,  therefore,  without  delay."  Te'le'maque  often 
refused ;  but  she  continued  her  solicitations,  and  at  length  he 
complied. 

"I  set  out  from  Ithaca  to  inquire  after  my  father,  of  those 
princes  who  had  returned  from  the  siege  of  Troy.  The  suitors 
of  Penel'ope,  my  mother,  were  surprised  at  my  departure,  be- 
cause from  them,  whom  I  knew  to  be  perfidious,  I  had  concealed 
my  purpose;  but  neither  Nes'tor,  whom  I  saw  at  Py'los,  nor 
Menela'us,  who  received  me  with  affection  at  Lacedemon,  knew 
whether  my  father  was  among  the  living  or  the  dead.  I  was 
at  length  impatient  of  perpetual  suspense  and  uncertainty,  and 
therefore  formed  a  resolution  to  go  into  Sicily,  whither  my 
father  was  said  to  have  been  driven  by  contrary  winds.  But 
the  prudence  of  Mentor,  who  is  here  the  companion  of  my 


T£L£MAQUE  AND  MENTOR  83 

fortunes,  opposed  the  execution  of  so  rash  a  design  by  represent- 
ing my  danger,  on  the  one  hand  from  the  Cyclops,  the  gigantic 
monsters  who  riot  upon  human  flesh,  and  on  the  other  from  the 
fleet  of  ^Eneas  and  the  Trojans,  who  were  hovering  about  those 
coasts.  'The  Trojans,'  said  he,  'are  irritated  against  all  the 
Greeks,  but  above  all  against  Ulysses,  whose  son,  therefore, 
they  would  rejoice  to  destroy.  Return,  then,  to  Ithaca;  perhaps 
your  father,  who  is  beloved  by  the  gods,  may  have  returned 
already;  but  if  Heaven  has  decreed  his  death,  if  he  shall  see 
Ithaca  no  more,  it  is  fit  that  you  return  to  avenge  him,  and  to 
deliver  your  mother  ;  to  display  your  wisdom  to  attending 
nations,  and  to  let  all  Greece  behold  in  Te'le'maque  a  sovereign 
not  less  worthy  of  the  throne  than  Ulysses.'  This  counsel 
which  was  the  voice  of  reason,  I  rejected  and  listened  only  to 
the  suggestions  of  my  passions;  but  such  was  the  affection  of 
my  friend  that  he  embarked  with  me  for  that  voyage,  which, 
in  the  folly  of  my  presumption,  I  undertook  contrary  to  his 
advice;  and  the  gods,  perhaps,  permitted  the  fault,  that  the 
calamity  which  it  drew  upon  me  might  teach  me  wisdom." 

While  Te'le'maque  had  been  speaking,  Calypso  had  atten- 
tively considered  Mentor,  and  was  suddenly  chilled  with  aston- 
ishment. She  imagined  that  she  perceived  in  him  something 
more  than  human  ;  and  not  being  able  to  resolve  the  perplexity 
of  her  thoughts  into  any  probable  determination,  the  presence 
of  this  inscrutable  being  continued  to  agitate  her  mind  with 
suspicion  and  dread.  But  fearing  yet  more  that  her  confusion 
should  be  perceived, 

"Proceed,"  said  she  to  Te'le'maque,   "to  gratify  my  curi- 
osity ;  "  and  Te'le'maque  accordingly  continued  his  story. 
******** 

Calypso,  who  had  sat  motionless  till  this  instant,  and  listen- 
ing with  inexpressible  delight  to  the  adventures  of  Te'le'maque, 
now  interrupted  him,  that  he  might  enjoy  some  respite. 

"  It  is  time,"  said  she,  "that  after  so  many  toils  you  should 
taste  the  sweets  of  repose.  In  this  island  you  have  nothing  to 
fear.  Everything  is  here  subservient  to  your  wishes.  Open 


84  FtiNELON 

your  heart,  therefore,  to  joy,  and  make  room  for  all  the  bless- 
ings of  peace,  which  the  gods  are  preparing  for  you  ;  and  to- 
morrow, when  the  rosy  fingers  of  Aurora  shall  unlock  the 
golden  doors  of  the  East,  and  the  steeds  of  Phosbus  shall 
spring  up  from  the  deep,  diffusing  the  beams  of  day,  and  driv- 
ing before  them  the  stars  of  heaven,  the  history  of  your  mis- 
fortunes, my  dear  Te'le'maque,  shall  be  resumed.  You  have 
exceeded  even  your  father  in  wisdom  and  in  courage  ;  nor  has 
Achil'les,  the  conqueror  of  Hector  ;  nor  The'seus,  who  returned 
from  Hades ;  nor  even  the  great  Alci'des,  who  delivered  the 
earth  from  so  many  monsters,  displayed  either  fortitude  or 
virtue  equal  to  yours.  May  one  deep  and  unbroken  slumber 
render  the  night  short  to  you  ;  though  to  me,  alas  !  it  will  be 
wearisome  and  long.  With  what  impatience  shall  I  desire 
again  to  see  you  ;  to  hear  your  voice  ;  to  urge  you  to  repeat 
what  I  have  been  told  already,  and  to  inquire  after  what  I  am 
still  to  learn  !  Go,  then,  my  dear  Te'le'maque,  with  that  friend 
whom  the  bounty  of  the  gods  has  again  restored  ;  retire  into 
the  grotto  which  has  been  prepared  for  your  repose.  May  Mor- 
pheus shed  his  benign  influence  upon  your  eyelids,  that  are 
now  heavy  with  watching,  and  diffuse  a  pleasing  languor  through 
your  limbs,  that  are  fatigued  with  labor  !  May  he  cause  the 
most  delightful  dreams  to  sport  around  you,  fill  your  imagi- 
nation with  gay  ideas,  and  keep  far  from  you  whatever  might 
chase  them  away  too  soon  !  ' ' 

The  goddess  then  conducted  Te'le'maque  into  the  separate 
grotto,  which  was  not  less  rural  or  pleasant  than  her  own.  In 
one  part  of  it  the  lulling  murmurs  of  a  fountain  invited  sleep 
to  the  weary,  and  in  another  the  nymphs  had  prepared  two  beds 
of  the  softest  moss,  and  covered  them  with  two  large  skins — one 
with  that  of  a  lion,  for  Te'le'maque,  and  the  other  with  that  of  a 
bear,  for  Mentor. 

They  were  now  alone,  but  Mentor,  before  he  resigned  his 
eyes  to  sleep,  spoke  thus  to  Te'le'maque  : 

"The  pleasure  of  relating  your  adventures  has  ensnared 
you,  for  by  displaying  the  dangers  which  you  have  surmounted 


ANt>   MENTOR  85 

by  your  courage  and  your  ingenuity,  you  have  captivated 
Calypso  ;  and  in  proportion  as  you  have  inflamed  her  passions, 
you  have  insured  your  own  captivity.  Can  it  be  hoped  that 
she  will  suffer  him  to  depart  who  has  displayed  such  power 
to  please  ?  You  have  been  betrayed  into  indiscretion  by  your 
vanity.  She  promised  to  relate  some  stories  to  you,  and  to 
acquaint  you  with  the  adventures  and  the  fate  of  Ulysses,  but 
she  has  found  means  to  say  much  without  giving  you  any 
information,  and  to  draw  from  you  whatever  she  desired  to 
know.  Such  are  the  arts  of  the  flatterer  and  the  wanton. 
When,  O  Te'le'maque,  will  you  be  wise  enough  to  resist  the 
impulse  of  vanity,  and  know  how  to  suppress  incidents  that  do 
you  honor,  when  it  is  not  fit  that  they  should  be  related? 
Others,  indeed,  admire  the  wisdom  that  you  possess  at  an  age 
in  which  they  think  folly  might  be  forgiven,  but  I  can  over- 
look nothing  ;  your  heart  is  known  only  to  me,  and  there  is  no 
other  who  loves  you  well  enough  to  tell  you  your' faults.  How 
much  does  your  father  still  surpass  you  in  wisdom  !  " 

"Could  I  then,"  asked  Te'le'maque,  "  have  refused  an  account 
of  my  misfortunes  to  Calypso  ?  ' ' 

"  No,"  replied  Mentor,  "but  you  should  have  gratified  her 
curiosity  by  reciting  only  such  circumstances  as  might  have 
aroused  her  compassion.  You  might  have  told  her  that,  after 
having  long  wandered  from  place  to  place,  you  were  first  a  cap- 
tive in  Sicily,  and  then  a  slave  in  Egypt.  This  would  have  been 
enough  ;  and  all  that  was  more  served  only  to  render  more 
active  that  poison  which  now  rages  at  her  heart  —  a  poison 
from  which  pray  the  gods  that  thy  heart  may  be  defended. ' ' 

"  But  what  can  now  be  done  ?  "  said  Te'le'maque. 

' '  Now, ' '  replied  Mentor,  ' '  the  sequel  of  your  story  cannot 
be  suppressed.  Calypso  knows  too  much  to  be  deceived  in 
that  which  she  has  yet  to  learn,  and  to  attempt  it  would  be  only 
to  displease  her.  Proceed,  therefore,  to-morrow  in  your  account 
of  all  that  the  gods  have  done  for  you,  and  speak  another  time 
with  more  modesty  of  such  actions  of  your  own  as  may  be 
thought  to  merit  praise." 


86 

This  salutary  advice  was  received  by  Te'le'maque  with  the 
same  friendship  with  which  it  was  given  by  Mentor,  and  they 
immediately  lay  down  to  rest. 

As  soon  as  the  first  rays  of  Phoebus  glanced  upon  the  moun- 
tains, Mentor  heard  the  voice  of  Calypso  calling  to  her  nymphs 
in  the  neighboring  wood,  and  awakened  Te'le'maque. 

"  It  is  time, ' '  said  he,  ' '  to  repress  the  encroachment  of  sleep  ; 
let  us  now  return  to  Calypso,  but  put  no  confidence  in  her 
words.  Shut  your  heart  against  her,  and  dread  the  delicious 
poison  of  her  praise.  Yesterday  she  exalted  you  above  the 
wise  Ulysses,  your  father,  and  the  invincible  Achilles  ;  above 
Theseus,  who  filled  the  earth  with  his  fame,  and  Hercules, 
who  obtained  a  place  in  the  skies.  Did  you  perceive  the  excess 
of  such  adulation,  or  did  you  believe  her  praises  to  be  just  ? 
Calypso  herself  laughs  in  secret  at  so  romantic  a  falsehood, 
which  she  uttered  only  because  she  believed  you  to  be  so  vain 
as  to  be  gratified  by  the  grossest  flattery,  and  so  weak  as  to  be 
imposed  upon  by  the  most  extravagant  improbability. ' ' 

They  now  approached  the  place  where  they  were  expected 
by  the  goddess.  The  moment  she  perceived  them,  she  forced 
a  smile,  and  attempted  to  conceal,  under  the  appearance  of 
joy,  the  dread  and  anxiety  which  agitated  her  bosom,  for  she 
foresaw  that,  under  the  direction  of  Mentor,  Te'le'maque,  like 
Ulysses,  would  elude  her  snares. 

"Come,  my  dear  Te'le'maque,"  said  she,  "and  relieve  me 
from  the  impatience  of  curiosity.  I  have  dreamt  all  the  night 
of  your  departure  from  Phoenicia  to  seek  new  adventures  in  the 
isle  of  Cyprus.  Let  us  not,  therefore,  lose  another  moment ; 
make  haste  to  satisfy  me  with  knowledge,  and  put  an  end  to 
the  illusions  of  conjecture." 

They  then  sat  down  upon  the  grass,  that  was  intermingled 
with  violets;  and  a  lofty  grove  spread  its  shadow  over  them. 

Calypso  could  not  refrain  from  looking  frequently,  with  the 
most  passionate  tenderness,  at  Te'le'maque,  nor  perceive  without 
indignation  that  every  glance  of  her  eye  was  remarked  by 
Mentor.  All  her  nymphs  silently  ranged  themselves  in  a  semi- 


TtiLtiMAQUE   AND    MENTOR  87 

circle,  and  leaned  forward  with  the  utmost  eagerness  of  atten- 
tion. The  eyes  of  the  whole  assembly  were  immovably  fixed 
on  Te'le'maque,  who,  looking  downward  and  blushing  with  the 
most  graceful  modesty,  continued  his  narrative. 

TELEMAQUE  RELATES  WHAT  BEFELL  HIM  ON  BEACHING  THE  ISLAND 
,OF  CRETE/  WHERE  HE  WAS  GREETED  BY  NAUSICRATES 

"  'The  Cretans,'  said  Nausicrates,  'having  lost  their  King, 
have  resolved  to  elect  such  a  person  in  his  stead  as  will  admin- 
ister the  established  laws  in  their  utmost  purity.  For  this  pur- 
pose the  principal  inhabitants  of  every  city  have  been  summoned 
to  this  place;  the  sacrifices,  which  are  the  first  solemnities  of 
the  election,  are  already  begun;  the  most  celebrated  sages  of 
all  the  neighboring  countries  are  assembled  to  propose  questions 
to  the  candidates,  as  a  trial  of  their  sagacity;  and  preparations 
are  made  for  public  games,  to  determine  their  courage,  strength, 
and  activity.  For  the  Cretans  are  resolved  that,  as  their  king- 
dom is  the  prize,  they  will  bestow  it  upon  him  only  who  shall 
be  adjudged  superior  to  all  others,  both  in  body  and  in  mind; 
and  to  render  the  victory  more  difficult  by  increasing  the  num- 
ber of  competitors,  all  foreigners  are  invited  to  the  contest.' 

"Nausicrates,  after  having  related  these  astonishing  events, 
pressed  us  to  enter  the  list.  '  Make  haste, '  said  he,  '  O  stran- 
gers, to  our  assembly,  and  engage  among  others  in  the  contest ; 
for  if  the  gods  decree  the  victory  to  either  of  you,  he  will  be 
the  sovereign  of  Crete.'  He  then  turned  hastily  from  us;  and 
we  followed  him,  not  with  any  desire  of  victory,  but  only  that 
we 'might  gratify  our  curiosity  by  being  present  at  so  uncommon 
and  important  a  transaction. 

"  We  came  to  a  kind  of  circus,  of  vast  extent,  in  the  middle 
of  a  thick  forest.  Within  the  circus  was  an  area  prepared  for 

1  The  island  of  Crete  was  a  celebrated  land  of  antiquity,  and  is  said  to  have 
contained  a  hundred  cities.  Its  greatness  and  its  perfection  in  all  that  makes  up 
the  life  of  the  citizen  were  ascribed  to  the  great  lawgiver  Mi'nos,  a  legendary 
king  and  prophet,  the  moral  of  whose  life  and  work  are  sedulously  impressed 
upon  Telemaque  by  Mentor,  in  the  narrative. 


the  combatants,  surrounded  by  a  circular  bank  of  fresh  turf, 
on  which  were  seated  an  innumerable  multitude  of  spectators. 
We  were  received  with  the  utmost  civility,  for  the  Cretans  ex- 
cel all  other  people  in  a  liberal  and  religious  performance  of  the 
duties  of  hospitality.  They  not  only  caused  us  to  be  seated, 
but  invited  us  to  engage  in  the  exercises.  Mentor  declined, 
on  account  of  his  age;  and  Ha'zael,  as  being  in  an  ill  state  of 
health.  My  youth  and  vigor  left  me  no  excuse,  however.  I 
turned  my  eyes  upon  Mentor,  to  discover  his  sentiments,  and 
I  perceived  that  he  wished  I  should  engage.  I  therefore  ac- 
cepted the  offer  that  had  been  made  me;  and  throwing  off  my 
apparel,  my  limbs  were  anointed  with  oil,  and  I  placed  myself 
among  the  other  combatants.  A  rumor  immediately  passed 
through  the  whole  multitude  that  the  new  candidate  for  the 
kingdom  was  the  son  of  Ulysses,  —  for  several  of  the  Cretans, 
who  had  been  at  Ithaca  when  I  was  a  child,  remembered  my 
face. 

"The  first  exercise  was  wrestling.  A  Rhodian,  who  ap- 
peared to  be  about  thirty-five  years  of  age,  threw  all  that  ven- 
tured to  encounter  him.  He  was  still  in  his  full  vigor;  his 
arms  were  nervous  and  brawny;  his  muscles  were  discovered 
at  every  motion,  and  his  limbs  were  not  less  supple  and  strong. 
There  was  now  no  competitor  remaining  but  myself;  and  as  he 
thought  no  honor  was  to  be  gained  by  overcoming  so  feeble  an 
opponent,  he  indulged  the  compassion  which  he  felt  for  my 
youth,  and  would  have  retired;  but  I  pressed  forward,  and 
presented  myself  before  him.  We  immediately  seized  each 
other,  and  grappled  till  both  were  out  of  breath;  we  stood 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  and  foot  to  foot;  every  nerve  was  strained, 
our  arms  were  entwined  like  serpents  in  each  other,  and  each 
of  us  endeavored  to  lift  his  antagonist  from  the  ground.  He 
attempted  to  throw  me,  sometimes  by  surprise  and  sometimes 
by  mere  strength,  sometimes  on  one  side,  and  sometimes  on  the 
other;  but  while  he  was  thus  practicing  all  his  skill  and  force 
upon  me,  I  threw  myself  forward  by  a  sudden  effort,  with  such 
violence  that,  the  muscles  of  his  back  giving  way,  he  fell  to 


AND    MENTOR  89 

the  ground  and  drew  me  upon  him.  All  his  efforts  to  get  me 
under  were  ineffectual.  I  held  him  immovable  under  me,  till 
the  multitude  shouted, 

"  '  Victory  to  the  son  of  Ulysses  ! ' 

"And  then  I  assisted  him  to  rise,  and  he  retired  in  confu- 
sion. 

"The  combat  of  the  cestus1  was  more  difficult. 

"  The  son  of  a  wealthy  citizen  of  Samos  had  acquired  much 
reputation  in  this  exercise,  so  that  the  rest  of  the  candidates 
yielded  to  him  without  contest ;  and  the  hope  of  victory  ani- 
mated no  bosom  but  mine.  In  the  first  onset  I  received  such 
blows  in  the  head  and  stomach  that  blood  gushed  from  my 
mouth  and  nostrils,  and  a  thick  mist  seemed  to  fall  upon  my 
eyes  ;  and  I  was  just  sinking,  faint  and  breathless,  when  I 
heard  Mentor  cry  out, 

"  '  O  son  of  Ulysses,  wilt  thou  be  vanquished?  ' 

"  The  voice  of  my  friend  encouraged  me  to  farther  resist- 
ance, and  disdain  supplied  me  with  new  strength.  I  avoided 
several  blows,  under  which  I  must  otherwise  have  sunk,  and, 
my  antagonist  having  missed  a  stroke,  I  seized  the  opportunity 
of  his, arm  being  carried  away  by  its  own  vigor  and  his  body 
bent  forward,  to  aim  a  blow  at  him  that  he  could  not  ward  off, 
and  I  raised  my  cestus  that  it  might  descend  with  greater 
force.  He  saw  my  advantage  and,  stepping  back,  he  writhed 
his  body  to  avoid  the  stroke.  By  this  motion  the  equilibrium 
was  destroyed,  and  I  easily  threw  him  to  the  ground.  I  imme- 
diately offered  him  my  hand,  which  he  refused  ;  and  he  got  up 
without  assistance,  covered  with  dust  and  blood,  but  though 
he  showed  the  utmost  shame  at  his  defeat,  yet  he  did  not  dare 
to  renew  the  combat. 

1  A  partial  covering  for  the  hand,  made  of  leather  and  used  in  boxing.  In 
ancient  days,  when  the  defense  of  nations  and  of  persons  depended  upon  mus- 
cular strength  and  skill  in  the  close  combat  of  individuals,  the  exercise  of  boxing 
was  a  necessary  part  of  the  training  of  youths.  Sometimes  the  cestus  was 
loaded  with  bits  of  iron  or  lead,  and  the  contest  of  the  boxers  became  deadly. 
Modern  boxing  gloves  render  the  exercise  of  boxing  safe  and  unobjectionable, 
and  generally  belong  to  the  outfit  of  a  gymnasium  at  the  present  time. 


90  FtiNELON 

"The  chariot  races  immediate^  followed.1 

"The  chariots  were  distributed  by  lot,  and  mine  happened 
to  be  the  worst  of  the  whole  number  ;  the  wheels  were  heavier, 
and  the  horses  less  vigorous.  We  started,  and  the  cloud  of 
dust  that  rose  behind  us  obscured  the  sky.  At  the  beginning 
of  the  race  I  suffered  the  others  to  get  before  me  ;  but  a  young 
Lacedemonian,  whose  name  was  Grantor,  left  them  all  behind 
him ;  and  Polycle'tus,  a  Cretan,  followed  him  at  a  small  dis- 
tance. Hippom'achus,  who  was  a  relation  of  Idom'eneus,  and 
who  was  ambitious  to  succeed  him,  giving  reins  to  his  horses, 
which  were  covered  with  sweat,  leaned  forward  over  their 
necks,  and  the  wheels  whirled  round  with  such  rapidity  that, 
like  the  wings  of  an  eagle  floating  upon  the  air,  they  seemed 
not  to  move  at  all.  My  horses,  which  had  breathed  by  degrees, 
beginning  now  to  exert  themselves,  soon  left  at  a  great  dis- 
tance behind  them  almost  all  those  that  had  set  out  with  so 
much  ardor  ;  and,  Hippomachus  pressing  forward  with  too 
much  eagerness  to  keep  his  advantage,  the  most  vigorous  of 
his  horses  fell  down,  and  put  an  end  to  the  hopes  of  his  master. 
Polycletus,  leaning  too  much  over  his  horses,  was  thrown  out 
of  his  chariot  by  a  sudden  shock  ;  the  reins  were  forced  out 
of  his  hand  ;  and  though  he  had  now  no  hope  of  victory,  he 
thought  himself  happy  to  have  escaped  with  his  life.  Grantor, 
perceiving  with  jealousy  and  indignation  that  I  was  now  close 
behind  him,  urged  his  team  forward  with  more  eagerness,  some- 
times vowing  rich  offerings  to  the  gods,  and  sometimes  encour- 
aging his  horses.  He  was  afraid  I  should  pass  him,  by  driving 
between- his  chariot  and  the  barrier  of  the  course,  because  my 
horses,  having  been  less  exhausted,  were  able  to  get  before 
him  if  they  had  room,  though  they  should  wheel  round  on  the 
outside  of  the  track.  This  could  not  be  prevented  otherwise 

1  The  following  description  will  bring  to  the  minds  of  many  readers  the  chariot 
race  in  Ben  Hur,  and  the  inspiring  scene  presented  to  the  imagination  of  the 
Apostle  when  he  wrote,  —  "  Wherefore,  seeing  we  also  are  encompassed  about 
with  so  great  a  cloud  of  witnesses,  let  us  lay  aside  every  weight,  and  the  sin 
which  doth  so  easily  beset  us,  and  let  us  run  with  patience  the  race  that  is  set 
before  us,  looking  unto  Jesus,  the  author  and  finisher  of  our  faith." 


AND    MENTOR  91 

than  by  obstructing  the  passage.  He  therefore,  though  he 
saw  the  danger  of  the  attempt,  drove  up  so  close  to  the  barrier 
that  his  wheel,  being  forced  against  it,  was  torn  off,  and  his 
chariot  dismounted.  I  had  now  nothing  to  do  but  to  turn 
short,  that  I  might  keep  clear  of  him  ;  and  the  next  moment 
he  saw  me  at  the  goal.  The  multitude  once  more  shouted, 

"  'Victory  to  the  son  of  Ulysses  !  It  is  he  whom  the  gods 
have  appointed  to  reign  over  us  ! ' 

"  We  were  then  conducted  by  the  most  illustrious  and  vener- 
able of  the  Cretans  into  a  wood,  which  had  been  long  kept 
sacred  from  the  vulgar  and  profane,  where  we  were  convened 
by  those  oracles  of  wisdom  who  had  been  appointed  by  Minos 
to  preserve  the  laws  from  violation,  and  to  administer  justice 
to  the  people.  But  into  this  assembly  were  admitted  those 
only  who  had  contended  in  the  games.  The  sages  opened  the 
book  into  which  all  the  laws  of  Minos  had  been  collected.  I 
was  touched  with  reverence  and  humility  when  I  approached 
these  fathers  of  their  country,  whom  age  had  rendered  vener- 
able without  impairing  their  vigor  of  mind.  They  sat,  with 
great  order  and  solemnity,  in  a  fixed  posture ;  their  hair  was 
white  'as  snow,  but  some  of  them  had  scarce  any  left ;  and 
their  countenances,  though  grave,  were  brightened  with  a 
calm  and  placid  sagacity.  They  were  not  forward  to  speak, 
and  they  said  nothing  that  was  not  the  result  of  mature 
deliberation.  When  their  opinions  were  different,  they  sup- 
ported them  with  so  much  candor  and  moderation  that  it 
could  scarcely  be  believed  that  they  were  not  of  one  mind.  By 
long  experience  and  close  application  they  had  acquired  the 
most  acute  discernment  and  extensive  knowledge  ;  but  that 
which  principally  conduced  to  the  strength  and  rectitude  of 
their  judgment  was  the  sedate,  dispassionate  tranquillity  of 
minds  that  had  been  long  freed  from  the  tumultuous  passions 
and  capricious  levity  of  youth.  Wisdom  alone  was  their  prin- 
ciple of  action  ;  and  by  the  long  and  habitual  practice  of  virtue 
they  had  so  corrected  every  irregular  disposition  that  they  had 
tasted  the  calm  yet  elevated  delights  of  reason  without  alloy. 


92 

To  these  awful  beings  I  lifted  up  my  eyes  with  admiration, 
and  wished  that  by  a  sudden  contraction  of  my  life  I  might 
immediately  arrive  at  so  desirable  an  old  age  ;  for  I  perceived 
youth  to  be  a  state  of  infelicity,  subject  to  the  blind  impetuosity 
of  passion,  and  far  from  the  perspicacious  tranquillity  of  their 
virtue. 

"  The  person  who  presided  in  this  assembly  opened  the 
book  into  which  the  laws  of  Minos  had  been  collected.  It  was 
a  large  volume,  and  was  kept  locked,  with  the  richest  per- 
fumes, in  a  golden  box.  When  it  was  taken  out,  all  the  sages 
kissed  it  with  a  profound  respect,  and  said  that,  the  gods  only 
excepted  (from  whom  all  good  is  originally  derived),  nothing 
should  be  held  so  sacred  as  those  laws  which  promote  wisdom, 
virtue,  and  happiness.  Those  who  put  these  laws  into  execu- 
tion for  the  government  of  others  should  also  by  these  laws 
govern  themselves ;  for  it  is  the  law  that  ought  to  reign,  and 
not  the  man.  Such  were  the  sentiments  of  this  hoary  council ; 
and  the  president  then  proposed  three  questions,  which  were 
to  be  resolved  by  the  maxims  of  Minos. 

"The  first  question  was,  —  '  What  man  is  most  free  ?  '  One 
answered  that  it  was  a  King  who  governed  his  people  with 
absolute  authority,  and  had  triumphed  over  all  his  enemies. 
Another  said  that  it  was  he  whose  riches  enabled  him  to  pur- 
chase whatever  he  desired.  In  the  opinion  of  some  it  was  a 
man  who  had  never  married,  and  who  was  perpetually  travel- 
ing from  one  country  to  another,  without  subjecting  himself  to 
the  laws  of  any.  Others  supposed  it  might  be  a  savage,  who, 
living  wild  in  the  woods  and  subsisting  by  hunting,  was  inde- 
pendent of  all  society,  and  suffered  no  want  as  an  individual. 
Others  thought  of  a  slave  immediately  after  emancipation, 
because,  being  just  relieved  from  the  severities  of  servitude, 
he  would  have  a  more  lively  sense  of  the  sweets  of  freedom. 
And  there  were  some  who  said  that  a  man  at  the  point  of 
death  was  more  free  than  all  others,  because  death  breaks 
every  bond,  and  over  the  dead  the  united  world  has  no  power. 

"  When  my  opinion  was  demanded,  I  was  in  no  doubt  what  to 


T£L£MAQUE  AND  MENTOR  93 

answer,  because  I  remembered  what  had  been  often  told  me  by 
Mentor.  'The  most  free  of  all  men,'  said  I,  'is  he  whose 
freedom  slavery  itself  cannot  take  away.  He,  and  he  only,  is 
free  in  every  country  und  in  every  condition,  who  fears  the 
gods,  and  whose  fear  has  no  other  object.  In  other  words,  he 
only  is  truly  free,  over  whom  fear  and  desire  have  no  power, 
and  who  is  subject  only  to  reason  and  the  gods. '  The  fathers 
looked  upon  each  other  with  a  smile,  and  were  surprised  to 
find  my  answer  exactly  the  same  with  that  of  Minos. 

"The  second  question  was,  'Who  is  most  unhappy  ?'  To 
this  every  one  gave  such  an  answer  as  was  suggested  by 
his  fancy.  One  said  that  the  most  unhappy  man  was  he 
who  was  without  money,  health,  or  reputation.  Another  said 
it  was  he  who  had  no  friend.  Some  imagined  none  could 
be  so  wretched  as  those  who  had  degenerate  and  ungrateful 
children.  But  a  native  of  Lesbos,  a  man  celebrated  for  his 
wisdom,  said  that  the  most  unhappy  of  all  men  was  he  that 
thought  himself  so  ;  because  unhappiness  depends  much  less 
upon  adversity  than  upon  impatience,  and  unfortunate  events 
derive  all  their  power  to  afflict  from  the  minds  of  those  to 
whom  they  happen.  The  assembly  heard  this  opinion  with  a 
shout  of  applause,  and  every  one  believed  that  in  this  ques- 
tion the  Lesbian  would  be  declared  victor.  My  opinion  being 
asked,  I  formed  my  answer  upon  the  maxims  of  Mentor. 
'  The  most  unhappy  of  all  men, '  said  I,  '  is  a  King  who  be- 
lieves he  will  become  happy  by  rendering  others  miserable. 
His  wretchedness  is  doubled  by  his  ignorance  ;  for,  as  he  does 
not  know  whence  it  proceeds,  he  can  apply  no  remedy  ;  he  is, 
indeed,  afraid  to  know,  and  he  suffers  a  crowd  of  sycophants 
to  surround  him,  that  keep  truth  at  a  distance  ;  he  is  a  slave 
to  his  own  passions,  and  an  utter  stranger  to  his  duty  ;  he  has 
never  tasted  the  pleasure  of  doing  good,  nor  been  warmed  to 
sensibility  by  the  charms  of  virtue  ;  he  is  wretched,  but  the 
wretchedness  that  he  suffers  he  deserves ;  and  his  misery,  how- 
ever great,  is  perpetually  increasing.  He  rushes  down  the 
precipice  of  perdition,  and  the  gulf  of  everlasting  punishment 


94  FtiNELON 

receives  him.'  The  assembly  attested  my  victory  over  the 
Lesbian,  and  the  judges  declared  that  I  had  expressed  the 
sense  of  Minos. 

"  The  third  question  was,  —  '  Which. of  the  two  ought  to  be 
preferred,  —  a  king  who  is  invincible  in  war,  or  a  King  who, 
without  any  experience  in  war,  can  administer  civil  government 
with  great  wisdom  in  a  time  of  peace  ?  ' 

"  The  majority  determined  this  question  in  favor  of  the 
warrior  ;  '  for  skill  to  govern  in  a  time  of  peace, '  said  they, 
'  will  be  of  little  use  if  the  King  cannot  defend  his  country  in 
a  time  of  war,  since  he  will  himself  be  divested  of  his  authority, 
and  his  people  will  become  slaves  to  the  enemy.'  Others  pre- 
ferred the  pacific  Prince,  because,  as  he  would  have  more  to  fear 
from  a  war,  he  would  be  more  careful  to  avoid  one.  But  they 
were  answered  that  the  achievements  of  a  conqueror  would  in- 
crease not  only  his  own  glory,  but  the  glory  of  his  people,  to 
whom  he  would  subjugate  many  nations ;  while  under  a  pacific 
^government  quiet  and  security  would  degenerate  into  coward- 
ice and  sloth.  My  sentiments  were  then  asked,  and  I  answered 
thus  :  '  Although  he  who  can  govern  only  in  peace  or  only  in 
war  is  but  half  a  King,  yet  the  Prince  who  by  his  sagacity  can 
discover  the  merit  of  others,  and  can  defend  his  country  (when 
it  is  attacked),  if  not  in  person,  yet  by  his  generals,  is  in  my 
opinion  to  be  preferred  before  him  who  knows  no  art  but  that 
of  war.  A  Prince  whose  genius  is  entirely  military  will  levy 
endless  wars  to  extend  his  dominions,  and  ruin  his  people  to 
add  a  new  title  to  his  name.  If  the  nation  which  he  now 
governs  is  unhappy,  what  is  it  to  them  how  many  more  he 
conquers  !  A  foreign  war,  long  continued,  cannot  fail  of  pro- 
ducing disorder  at  home  ;  the  manners  of  the  victors  themselves 
become  corrupt  during  the  general  convulsion.  How  much  has 
Greece  suffered  by  the  conquest  of  Troy.  She  was  more  than 
ten  years  deprived  of  her  kings ;  and  wherever  the  flame  of 
war  is  kindled,  the  laws  are  violated  with  impunity,  agricul- 
ture is  neglected,  and  the  sciences  are  forgotten.  The  best 
Prince,  when  he  has  a  war  to  sustain,  is  compelled  to  the  same 


TfiLtiMAQUE    AND    MENTOR  95 

conduct  which  disgraces  the  worst,  to  tolerate  licentiousness, 
and  employ  villainy  in  his  service.  How  many  daring  profli- 
gates are  punished  in  a  time  of  peace,  whom  it  is  necessary  to 
reward  during  the  disorders  of  war  !  No  nation  was  ever  gov- 
erned by  a  conqueror  that  did  not  suffer  by  his  ambition. 

"  As  to  the  pacific  Prince,  it  must  be  confessed,  indeed,  that 
he  is  not  qualified  for  conquest ;  or,  in  other  words,  he  is  not 
born  to  harass  his  people  by  perpetual  hostilities,  in  a  restless 
attempt  to  subjugate  others,  over  whom  he  can  have  no  equita- 
ble right ;  but  if  he  is  perfectly  qualified  for  peaceful  govern- 
ment, these  very  qualifications  will  secure  his  subjects  against 
the  encroachments  of  an  enemy.  His  justice,  moderation,  and 
quietness  render  him  a  good  neighbor  ;  he  engages  in  no  enter- 
prise that  can  interrupt  the  peace  subsisting  between  him  and 
other  states  ;  and  he  fulfills  all  his  engagements  with  a  reli- 
gious exactness.  He  is  therefore  regarded  by  his  allies  rather 
with  love  than  with  fear,  and  they  trust  him  with  unlimited 
confidence.  If  any  restless,  haughty,  and  ambitious  power 
should  molest  him,  all  the  neighboring  princes  will  interpose 
in  his  behalf,  because  from  him  they  apprehend  no  attempt 
against  their  own  quiet,  but  have  everything  to  fear  from  his 
enemy.  His  steady  justice,  impartiality,  and  public  faith 
render  him  the  arbiter  of  all  the  kingdoms  that  surround  his 
own  ;  and  while  the  enterprises  of  ambition  make  the  warrior 
odious,  and  the  common  danger  unites  the  world  against  him, 
a  glory  superior  to  that  of  conquest  comes  unlocked  for  to  the 
friend  of  peace,  on  whom  the  eyes  of  every  other  potentate  are 
turned  with  reverence  and  affection,  as  the  father  and  the  guar- 
dian of  them  all.  These  are  his  advantages  abroad  ;  and  those 
at  home  are  yet  more  considerable.  If  he  is  qualified  to  gov- 
ern in  peace,  it  follows  that  he  must  govern  by  the  wisest  laws; 
he  must  restrain  parade  and  luxury  ;  he  must  suppress  every 
art  which  can  only  gratify  vice,  and  he  must  encourage  those 
which  supply  the  necessities  of  life,  especially  agriculture,  to 
which  the  principal  attention  of  his  people  must  be  turned. 
Thus  will  the  pacific  Prince  be  sustained,  when  his  danger  is 


96  FENELON 

most  imminent;  and  therefore  I  conclude  that,  though  his 
ignorance  in  the  art  of  war  is  an  imperfection  in  his  character, 
since  it  disables  him  from  executing  one  of  the  principal  duties 
of  his  station,  the  chastisement  of  those  who  invade  his  domin- 
ion or  injure  his  people,  —  yet  he  is  infinitely  superior  to  a  King 
who  is  wholly  unacquainted  with  civil  government,  and  knows 
no  art  but  the  art  of  war.' l 

"I  perceived,  but  without  wonder,  that  many  persons  in 
the  assembly  did  not  approve  the  opinion  that  I  had  been 
laboring  to  maintain  ;  for  the  greater  part  of  mankind,  dazzled 
by  the  false  luster  of  victories  and  triumphs,  prefer  the  tumult 
and  show  of  successful  hostilities  to  the  quiet  simplicity  of 
peace  and  the  intrinsic  advantages  of  good  government.  The 
judges,  however,  declared,  that  I  had  spoken  the  sentiments 
of  Minos  ;  and  the  president  cried  out : 

"'The  oracle  of  Apollo,  known  to  all  Crete,  is  fulfilled. 
Minos  inquired  of  the  god  how  long  his  posterity  should 
govern  by  the  laws  which  he  had  established  ;  and  he  was 
answered,  — "  Thy  posterity  shall  cease  to  reign  when  a 
stranger  shall  establish  the  reign  of  thy  laws."  We  feared 
that  some  foreigner  would  make  a  conquest  of  our  island  ;  but 
the  misfortunes  of  Idomeneus,  and  the  wisdom  of  the  son  of 
Ulysses,  who  of  all  mortals  best  understands  the  laws  of 
Minos,  have  disclosed  the  true  sense  of  the  oracle.  Why, 
then,  do  we  delay  to  crown  him  whom  the  gods  have  appointed 
to  be  our  King?' 

"  The  sages  immediately  went  out  of  the  consecrated  grove  ; 
and  the  chief  of  them,  taking  me  by  the  hand,  declared  to  the 
people,  who  were  waiting  impatiently  for  the  decision,  that 

1  It  is  interesting  to  reflect  upon  what  might  have  been  the  benefit  to  France 
and  to  Europe  of  a  king  trained  by  such  lessons  as  these,  to  rule  in  righteousness 
and  to  seek  the  happiness  of  all  classes  of  his  subjects.  Great  was  the  misfortune 
of  the  French  to  lose  such  a  Prince  as  the  pupil  of  Fenelon,  and  at  such  a  time 
as  that  in  which  he  died.  The  love  of  military  glory  and  of  conquest  was  the 
ruling  passion  of  Louis  XIV.  The  resulting  ruin  of  his  kingdom  brought  on  the 
French  Revolution  (in  the  time  of  Louis  XVI.),  which  only  the  wisest  statesman- 
ship could  have  averted. 


TtiLtiMAQUE   AND    MENTOR  97 

the  prize  had  been  decreed  to  me.  The  words  were  no  sooner 
uttered  than  the  dead  silence  of  expectation  was  followed  by 
an  universal  shout.  Every  one  cried  out, 

"  '  Let  the  son  of  Ulysses,  a  second  Minos,  be  our  King ! ' 

' '  And  the  echoes  of  the  neighboring  mountain  repeated  the 
acclamation. 

' '  I  waited  a  few  moments,  and  then  made  a  sign  with  my 
hand  that  I  desired  to  be  heard.  In  this  interval  Mentor 
whispered  me, — 

44 '  Wilt  thou  renounce  thy  country?  Can  ambition  obliterate 
the  remembrance  of  Penelope,  who  longs  for  thy  return  as  the 
last  object  of  her  hope,  and  alienate  thy  heart  from  the  great 
Ulysses  whom  the  gods  have  resolved  to  restore  to  Ithaca  ?  '  • 

"These  words  roused  every  tender  passion  in  my  bosom; 
and  the  fond  desire  of  royalty  was  instantly  absorbed  in  the 
love  of  my  parents  and  my  country.  In  the  meantime  the 
multitude  were  again  become  motionless  and  silent,  and  I 
addressed  them  in  these  terms  : 

' '  '  Illustrious  Cretans,  —  I  am  not  worthy  the  dignity  which 
you  offer.  The  oracle  of  which  you  have  been  reminded  does, 
indeed,  express  that  the  sovereignty  of  Crete  shall  depart  from 
the  race  of  Minos  when  a  stranger  shall  establish  the  dominion 
of  his  laws  ;  but  it  does  not  say  that  this  stranger  shall  be 
king.  I  am  willing  to  believe  that  I  am  the  stranger  foretold 
by  the  oracle,  and  that  I  have  accomplished  the  prediction. 
Fortune  has  cast  me  upon  this  island.  I  have  discovered  the 
true  sense  of  the  laws  of  Minos,  and  I  wish  that  my  explana- 
tion may  contribute  to  join  them  in  the  sovereignty  with  the 
man  whom  your  choice  shall  appoint  to  so  important  a  trust. 
As  for  me,  I  prefer  my  country,  the  obscure  and  inconsiderable 
island  of  Ithaca,  to  the  hundred  cities  of  Crete,  with  all  their 
opulence  and  glory.  Permit  me,  therefore,  to  wander  wher- 
ever the  Fates  shall  have  marked  my  course.  If  I  have  con- 
tended in  your  sports,  I  was  not  prompted  by  a  desire  to 
govern  you,  but  only  to  win  your  esteem  and  your  pity,  that 
you  might  the  more  readily  afford  me  the  means  of  returning 

8CH.  IN  COM,  —  7 


98  FtfNELON 

to  the  place  of  my  birth  ;  for  I  would  rather  obey  my  father 
Ulysses,  and  comfort  Penelope,  my  mother,  than  govern  all  the 
nations  upon  the  earth.  You  see,  O  Cretans,  the  secret  recesses 
of  my  heart.  I  am  compelled  to  leave  you  ;  but  death  only  can 
put  an  end  to  my  gratitude.  Your  interest  shall  never  be  less 
dear  to  me  than  my  own  honor  ;  and  I  will  remember  you  with 
affection  till  death  shall  eif ace  the  last  idea  from  my  mind  !  ' 
******** 

Te'le'maque  often  interrupted  Mentor  during  his  admonitions. 

"  Why,"  said  he,  "  should  we  not  continue  on  this  island  ? 
Ulysses  is  no  longer  a  sojourner  upon  the  earth ;  he  has  without 
doubt  been  long  buried  in  the  deep  ;  and  Penelope,  after  wait- 
ing in  vain  not  only  for  his  return  but  for  mine,  must  have 
yielded  .to  the  importunities  of  some  fortunate  suitor  among 
the  number  that  surrounded  her  ;  especially  as  it  can  scarce  be 
supposed  but  that  her  father,  Icarus,  must  have  exerted  his 
paternal  authority  to  oblige  her  to  accept  another  husband. 
For  what,  then,  can  I  return  to  Ithaca  but  to  see  her  disgraced 
by  a  new  alliance,  and  to  be  a  witness  to  the  violation  of  that 
troth  which  she  plighted  to  my  father  ?  And  if  Penelope  has 
thus  forgotten  Ulysses,  it  cannot  be  thought  that  he  is  remem- 
bered by  the  people.  And  neither,  indeed,  can  we  hope  to  get 
alive  into  the  island  ;  for  her  suitors  will  certainly  have  placed 
at  every  port  a  band  of  ruffians,  sufficient  to  cut  us  off  at  our 
return." 

"  All  that  you  have  said,"  replied  Mentor,  "  is  only  another 
proof  that  you  are  under  the  influence  of  a  foolish  and  fatal  pas- 
sion. You  labor  with  great  subtlety  to  find  every  argument 
that  can  favor  it,  and  to  avoid  all  those  by  which  it  would  be 
condemned  ;  you  are  ingenious  only  to  deceive  yourself,  and  to 
secure  forbidden  pleasures  from  the  intrusion  of  remorse.  Have 
you  forgotten  that  the  gods  themselves  have  interposed  to  favor 
your  return  ?  Was  not  your  escape  from  Sicily  supernatural  ? 
Were  not  the  misfortunes  that  you  suffered  in  Egypt  converted 
into  sudden  and  unexpected  prosperity  ?  And  were  not  the  dan- 
gers which  threatened  you  in  Tyre  averted  by  an  invisible  hand  ? 


TEL&MAQUE   AND    MENTOR  99 

Is  it  possible  that,  after  so  many  miracles,  you  should  still 
doubt  to  what  end  you  have  been  preserved  ?  But  why  do  I 
remonstrate  ?  Of  the  good  fortune  which  was  designed  for 
thee,  thou  art  unworthy  !  As  for  myself,  I  make  no  doubt  but 
I  shall  find  means  to  quit  this  island  ;  and  if  here  thou  art  deter- 
mined to  stay,  here  I  am  determined  to  leave  thee.  In  this 
place  let  the  degenerate  son  of  the  great  Ulysses  hide  himself 
among  women,  in  the  shameful  obscurity  of  voluptuousness  and 
sloth,  and  stoop,  even  in  spite  of  Heaven,  to  that  which  his 
father  disdained." 

This  reproach,  so  forcible  and  so  keen,  pierced  Te'le'maque  to 
the  heart.  He  was  melted  with  tenderness  and  grief  ;  but  his 
grief  was  mingled  with  shame,  and  his  shame  with  fear.  He 
dreaded  the  resentment  of  Mentor,  and  the  loss  of  that  com- 
panion to  whose  sagacity  and  kindness  he  was  so  much  indebted. 
But  at  the  same  time  the  passion  which  had  taken  possession  of 
his  breast,  and  to  which  he  was  himself  a  stranger,  made  him 
still  tenacious  of  his  purpose. 

"  What !  "  said  he  to  Mentor,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  "  do  you 
reckon  as  nothing  that  immortality  which  I  may  now  share  with 
Calypso  ?  " 

"  I  hold  as  nothing,"  replied  Mentor,  "  all  that  is  contrary  to 
the  dictates  of  virtue,  and  to  the  commands  of  Heaven.  Virtue 
now  calls  you  back  to  your  country,  to  Ulysses,  and  to  Penel- 
ope. Virtue  forbids  you  to  give  up  your  heart  to  an  unworthy 
passion  ;  and  the  gods,  who  have  delivered  you  from  so  many 
dangers  that  your  name  might  not  be  less  illustrious  than  that 
of  Ulysses,  command  you  to  quit  this  island,  where  only  the 
tyranny  of  love  could  detain  you  —  a  tyranny  which  to  resist 
is  to  subdue,  and  which  therefore  it  is  infamous  to  suffer.  Im- 
mortality !  alas,  what  is  immortality  without  liberty,  without 
virtue,  and  without  honor?  Is  it  not  a  state  of  misery  with- 
out hope,  still  more  deplorable  in  that  it  can  never  end  ?  " 

To  this  expostulation  Te'le'maque  replied  only  by  sighs. 
Sometimes  he  almost  wished  that  Mentor  would  force  him  from 
the  island,  in  spite  of  himself.  Sometimes  he  was  impatient  to 


100  F&NELON 

be  left  behind,  that  he  might  be  at  liberty  to  gratify  his  wishes 
without  fearing  to  be  reproached  for  his  weakness.  A  thousand 
different  wishes  and  desires  maintained  a  perpetual  conflict  in 
his  breast,  and  were  predominant  by  turns.  His  mind,  there- 
fore, was  in  a  state  of  tumult  and  fluctuation,  like  the  sea,  when 
it  is  at  once  urged  by  different  winds  of  equal  force.  Some- 
times he  threw  himself  on  the  ground  near  the  sea,  and  remained 
a  long  time  extended  motionless  on  the  beach.  Sometimes  he 
hid  himself  within  the  gloomy  recesses  of  a  wood. 

Mentor,  who  perceived  that  Te'le'maque  was  relapsing  into  all 
his  follies,  knew  that  not  a  moment  was  to  be  lost.  He  saw  a 
vessel  lying  at  anchor  at  a  distance,  which  did  not  approach  the 
shore,  because  it  was  well  known  to  all  pilots  that  the  island  of 
Calypso  was  inaccessible.  This  wise  guardian  of  inexperienced 
youth  thereupon  suddenly  pushed  Te'le'maque  from  the  top  of 
the  rock  into  the  sea,  and  instantly  leaped  after  him.  Te'le'- 
maque, who  was  at  first  stunned  by  the  fall,  drank  of  the  briny 
wave,  and  became  the  sport  of  the  surge.  But  at  length  recov- 
ering from  his  astonishment,  and  seeing  Mentor,  who  had 
stretched  out  his  hand  to  assist  him  in  swimming,  he  thought 
only  how  to  leave  the  island  at  a  distance. 

The  nymphs,  who  before  imagined  that  they  had  secured 
their  captives,  uttered  a  dreadful  cry  when  they  saw  them 
escape.  Calypso,  again  overwhelmed  with  despair,  retired  to 
her  grotto,  which  she  filled  with  unavailing  complaints. 

Te'le'maque  felt,  with  pleasure,  that  his  fortitude  and  his  love 
of  virtue  revived  as  his  distance  from  the  fatal  island  of  Calypso 
increased. 

"  I  now  experience,"  said  he  to  Mentor,  "  what  you  have  told 
me,  —  but  what,  if  I  had  not  experienced,  I  could  never  have 
believed.  Vice  can  be  conquered  only  by  flight.  My  father, 
how  dear  a  testimony  have  the  gods  given  me  of  their -love  by 
granting  me  the  guidance  and  protection  of  thy  wisdom  !  I 
deserve,  indeed,  to  be  deprived  of  both  ;  I  deserved  to  be  aban- 
doned to  my  own  folly.  I  now  fear  neither  seas  nor  winds  ;  I 
apprehend  danger  only  from  my  passions." 


JONATHAN    SWIFT 

THE   GREAT   IRISH    DEAN 

THE  life  of  Jonathan  Swift  seems  rather  a  romance  than  a  biography. 
Though  he  lived  for  many  years  in  the  glare  of  public  life,  there  is  a  deep 
mystery  which  sleeps  with  him  in  the  tomb,  and  which  probably  will  never 
be  revealed.  The  same  mystery  enshrouds  two  remarkable  women,  whose 
fate  was  interwoven  with  his  own,  —  the  Stella  and  Vanessa  of  literary 
history.  The  lapse  of  time  seems  to  abate  little  of  the  interest  which  in  all 
the  English-speaking  world  attaches  to  this  famous  trio. 

In  the  year  of  the  last  English  revolution,  1688,  there  came  to  Moor 
Park,  the  home  of  Sir  William  Temple,  near  London,  England,  a  scholar  of 
twenty-one  years,  in  search  of  employment.  The  master  of  the  house,  an 
author  of  some  repute,  who  had  known  the  young  man's  mother  in  former 
years,  and  was  a  distant  relative,  engaged  him  as  an  amanuensis.  Swift, 
the  newcomer,  proved  a  haughty  and  troublesome  assistant,  wholly  devoid 
of  gratitude  to  his  benefactor.  In  a  fit  of  rage  he  left  the  Park,  but  soon 
returned  to  his  work.  This  time  he  found  in  Sir  William's  household 
another  dependent,  Esther  Johnson,  who  had  come  with  her  mother  to  seek 
protection.  A  close  intimacy  sprang  up  between  Swift  and  the  beautiful 
girl,  to  whom  he  became  "  tutor,  mentor,  lover,"  and  to  whom  he  gave  the 
poetic  name  of  Stella. 

Sir  William  died,  and  the  young  man  was  not  enriched  by  his  legacy, 
though  Esther  was  generously  remembered.  Swift  now  removed  to  Ireland, 
and  accepted  the  vicarage  of  an  English  church  at  Laracor,  near  Dublin, 
his  native  city.  Esther,  who  at  the  age  of  eighteen  was  a  favorite  in  the 
gay  world  of  London,  abandoned  home,  mother,  and  friends  —  all  but  a 
Mrs.  Dingley,  who  was  attached  to  her  service  —  to  rejoin  Swift  at  Laracor, 
and  to  live  in  retirement  in  his  humble  parsonage. 

Swift  had  already  gained  notoriety  by  an  able  pamphlet  entitled  The 
Battle  of  the  Books  —  the  name  referring  to  a  contest  of  opinions  as  to  the 
relative  merits  of  ancient  and  modern  literature.  Though  a  minister,  he 
did  not  hesitate  now  to  publish  (anonymously)  a  satire  on  religious  subjects, 
entitled  The  Tale  of  a  Tub.  "  It  treated  of  the  most  sacred  themes  with 
coarse  ribaldry  and  painful  familiarity.  It  was  more  shocking  to  a  delicate 

101 


102  JONATHAN  SWIFT 

taste  than  the  barbaric  wit  of  Rabelais  and  the  keen  levity  of  Lucian.  Yet 
its  rare  originality,  its  biting  satire,  the  profusion  of  its  learning,  the  endless 
variety  of  its  wit,  and  that  clear  and  simple  style,  the  result  of  long  years 
of  labor,  in  which  the  writer's  mind,  with  all  its  fertile  novelty,  seemed  to 
blend  with  that  of  his  reader,  made  The  Tale  of  a  Tub  the  most  remarkable 
book  of  the  day." 

Going  to  London  in  1710,  on  some  matter  of  Church  business,  Swift 
became  suddenly  caught  in  the  swirl  of  politics.  He  had  been  a  Whig,  but 
immediately  changed  his  political  faith  when,  through  a  successful  intrigue, 
the  Tories  came  into  power  for  a  brief  time.  Almost  instantly  he  rose  to 
be  a  chief  factor  in  the  angry  controversies  which  followed ;  and  his 
political  pamphlets  were  marvels  of  detraction  and  invective.  He  became 
also  a  lion  of  society,  and  the  boon  companion  of  courtiers  and  adventurers. 

In  London  Swift  became  acquainted  with  a  young  lady  of  fashion  named 
Esther  Vanhomrigh,  to  whom  he  paid  marked  attentions.  In  a  later  poem, 
Cadenus  and  Vanessa,  he  represents  her  as  declaring  her  passion  for  him  — 
for  Cadenus  is  evidently  an  anagram  of  decanus,  the  Latin  word  for  dean, 
and  to  the  deanery  of  St.  Patrick's  Cathedral,  in  Dublin,  he  had  risen  from 
his  vicarage.  Swift  seems  to  have  reciprocated  her  affection,  or  at  least  to 
have  caused  her  to  believe  that  he  did. 

On  the  death  of  Queen  Anne,  in  1713,  the  Whigs  returned  to  power,  and 
Swift  returned  to  Ireland,  resuming  his  old  association  with  "  Stella,"  at 
Dublin.  "  Vanessa,"  soon  after,  was  left  an  orphan  and  removed  likewise 
to  Ireland,  with  her  sister  as  her  only  companion.  At  Morley  Abbey  she 
led  a  lonely  life,  which  was  brightened  only  by  occasional  visits  of  Swift. 
The  proud,  defeated  politician,  who  could  see  no  hope  for  further  advance- 
ment under  the  Whigs,  became  more  than  ever  embittered,  until  at  last  he 
seemed  to  cherish  a  hatred  for  all  men.  He  refused  to  acknowledge 
"  Stella  "  as  his  wife,  though  it  is  believed  that  they  went  through  a  secret 
and  meaningless  form  of  marriage. 

"  Vanessa,"  after  long  and  faithful  waiting  for  the  word  of  her  tardy 
lover,  learned  in  some  way  of  his  duplicity,  and  died  of  a  broken  heart. 
"  Stella,"  declining  with  secret  anguish,  was  cruelly  sent  forth  to  die  among 
strangers,  but  was  buried  (at  midnight)  in  the  Cathedral.  Faithful  to  the 
promise  extorted  from  her  (as  is  believed),  she  did  not  reveal  her  marriage, 
even  in  her  will,  but  therein  described  herself  as  a  spinster.  It  has  been 
doubted  if  the  marriage  ever  really  occurred.  Certain  it  is  that,  soon  after 
the  alleged  wedding,  a  friend  of  Swift,  Dr.  Delaney,  met  the  Dean  coming 
from  the  palace  of  the  Archbishop  of  Dublin,  and  was  surprised  to  see  him 
apparently  crazed.  Swift  did  not  even  recognize  his  friend.  Dr.  Delaney 
found  the  Archbishop  in  tears,  and  inquired  the  reason.  The  prelate 
replied,  "  You  have  just  met  the  most  unhappy  man  on  earth ;  but  of  the 
cause  of  his  wretchedness  you  must  never  ask  a  question." 


THE  ACADEMY  AT  LAGADO  103 

It  has  been  held  that  Swift's  equivocal  treatment  of  "  Stella"  arose  from  the 
fact  that  he  had  ascertained  in  some  way  that  she  was  his  illegitimate  sister. 
Some  insist  that  his  double  life  was  the  life  of  a  madman.  Were  not  the 
names  of  "  Stella  "  and  "  Vanessa  "  set  in  enduring  literature,  their  unhappy 
fate  had  been  long  since  forgotten.  But  the  works  of  Swift  are  likely  to 
last  for  ages  to  come ;  as  long  as  his  Letters  to  Stella  and  his  references  to 
Vanessa  shall  be  read,  the  world  will  continue  to  speculate  upon  his  inex- 
plicable conduct,  by  which  were  cruelly  wrecked  two  innocent  lives. 

The  greatest  work  of  the  Irish  Dean  was  published  in  1726.  It  is  entitled 
Gulliver's  Travels,  and  is  unlike  anything  else  in  English  letters.  It  is  the 
product  of  a  mind  that  delighted  in  viewing  the  imperfections  of  men.  It 
is  written  in  a  style  so  simple  that  it  is  the  delight  of  children ;  but  through 
it  all  there  is  a  hidden  meaning,  a  satire  on  individuals  and  on  the  mass  of 
mankind.  The  author's  misanthropy  grew  with  each  succeeding  chapter, 
until  it  reached  a  degree  of  hatred  and  bitterness  that  seemed  insane.  The 
work  achieved  a  wonderful  celebrity,  which  it  has  ever  since  held ;  and  it  is 
to-day  a  familiar  book  in  all  parts  of  the  English-speaking  world. 

Swift  was  idolized  by  the  Irish,  whose  interests  he  advocated.  They 
needed  such  an  advocate  —  a  man  with  nothing  to  lose,  and  with  the  energy 
of  wrecked  ambition  and  of  hatred  for  their  opponents. 

"  His  fame  ever  increased,"  says  Eugene  Lawrence.  "  His  wit  filled  the 
world  with  laughter ;  his  power  in  Ireland  was  almost  despotic.  Yet  no 
moment  of  happiness  or  of  peace  ever  came  to  his  troubled  spirit.  He 
always  declared  that  he  was  weary  of  life,  ready  for  death.  His  common 
parting  words  were,  '  May  we  never  meet  again ! '  His  mind  at  last  was 
lost  in  silent  idiocy." 

Swift  died  in  Dublin,  in  1745,  and  was  buried  by  the  side  of  "  Stella,"  in 
the  Cathedral  of  St.  Paul's.  About  a  quarter-century  ago  their  graves  were 
opened  and  their  remains  examined ;  but  no  clue  was  found  to  the  mystery 
of  their  lives. 


THE  ACADEMY  AT  LAGADO 

(From  Gulliver's  Travels) 

The  word  which  I  interpret  the  flying  or  floating  island  is, 
in  the  original,  Laputa,  whereof  I  could  never  learn  the  true 
etymology.  Lap,  in  the  old,  obsolete  language,  signifies  high; 
and  untuh,  a  governor  ;  from  which,  they  say,  by  corruption 
was  derived  Laputa  from  Lapuntuh.  But  I  do  not  approve  of 


104  JONATHAN 

this  derivation,  which  seems  to  be  a  little  strained.  I  ventured 
to  offer  to  the  learned  among  them  a  conjecture  of  my  own, 
that  Laputa  was  quasi  lap  outed  ;  lap  signifying,  properly,  the 
dancing  of  the  sunbeams  in  the  sea,  and  outed,  a  wing  ;  which, 
however,  I  shall  not  obtrude,  but  submit  to  the  judicious 
reader.1 

Those  to  whom  the  King  had  intrusted  me,  observing  how 
ill  I  was  clad,  ordered  a  tailor  to  come,  next  morning,  and  take 
measure  for  a  suit  of  clothes.  This  operator  did  his  office 
after  a  different  manner  from  those  of  his  trade  in  Europe. 
He  first  took  my  altitude  by  a  quadrant,  and  then,  with  rule 
and  compasses,  described  the  dimensions  and  outlines  of  my 
whole  body,  all  which  he  entered  upon  paper  ;  and  in  six  days 
brought  my  clothes,  very  ill-made,  and  quite  out  of  shape,  by 
happening  to  mistake  a  figure  in  the  calculation.  But  my  com- 
fort was  that  I  observed  that  such  accidents  were  very  fre- 
quent, and  little  regarded. 

During  my  confinement  for  want  of  clothes,  and  by  an  in- 
disposition that  held  me  some  days  longer,  I  much  enlarged 
my  dictionary ;  and  when  I  next  went  to  court,  was  able  to 
understand  many  things  the  King  spoke,  and  to  return  him 
some  kind  of  answers.  His  Majesty  had  given  orders  that  the 
island  should  move  north-east-and-by-east  to  the  vertical  point 
over  Laga'do,  the  metropolis  of  the  whole  kingdom  below,  upon 
the  firm  earth.  It  was  about  ninety  leagues  distant,  and  our 
voyage  lasted  four  days  and  a  half.  I  was  not  in  the  least 
sensible  of  the  progressive  motion  made  in  the  air  by  the 
island.  On  the  second  morning,  about  eleven  o'clock,  the 
King  himself  in  person,  attended  by  his  nobility,  courtiers,  and 
officers,  having  prepared  all  their  musical  instruments,  played 
on  them  for  three  hours  without  intermission,  so  that  I  was 


1  Many  teachers  and  critics  have  been  misled  by  illusive  etymologies.  This 
paragraph  is  a  satire  upon  the  strained  theories  which  have  been  urged  in  sup- 
port of  exceedingly  improbable  etymologies  of  names.  Tt  may  remind  the  reader 
of  some  of  the  explanations  which  have  been  offered  as  to  the  origin  of  some 
American  names  and  sobriquets,  such  as  Manhattan,  Arkansas,  Hoosier,  etc. 


TtiE  ACADEMY  AT  LAGAbO  105 

quite  stunned  with  the  noise  ;  neither  could  I  possibly  guess 
the  meaning,  till  my  tutor  informed  me.  He  said  that  the 
people  of  their  island  had  their  ears  adapted  to  hear  the  music 
of  the  spheres,  which  always  played  at  certain  periods,  and  the 
court  was  now  prepared  to  bear  their  part,  in  whatever  instru- 
ment they  most  excelled. 

In  our  journey  towards  Lagado,  the  capital  city,  His  Majesty 
ordered  that  the  island  should  stop  over  certain  towns  and 
villages,  from  whence  he  might  receive  the  petitions  of  his  sub- 
jects. And  to  this  purpose  several  packthreads  were  let  down, 
with  small  weights  at  the  bottom.  On  these  packthreads  the 
people  strung  their  petitions,  which  mounted  up  directly,  like 
the  scraps  of  paper  fastened  by  schoolboys  at  the  end  of  the 
string  that  holds  their  kite.  Sometimes  we  received  wine  and 
victuals  from  below,  which  were  drawn  up  by  pulleys. 

The  knowledge  I  had  in  mathematics  gave  me  great  assist- 
ance in  acquiring  their  phraseology,  which  depended  much 
upon  that  science  and  music  ;  and  in  the  latter  I  was  not  un- 
skilled. Their  ideas  are  perpetually  conversant  in  lines  and 
figures.  If,  for  example,  they  would  praise  the  beauty  of  a 
woman  or  any  other  animal,  they  describe  it  by  rhombs,  cir- 
cles, parallelograms,  ellipses  and  other  geometrical  terms,  or  by 
words  of  art  drawn  from  music,  needless  here  to  repeat.  I 
observed  in  the  King's  kitchen  all  sorts  of  mathematical  and 
musical  instruments,  after  the  figures  of  which  they  cut  up  the 
joints  that  were  served  to  His  Majesty's  table. 

Their  houses  are  very  ill-built;  the  walls  bevel,  without  one 
right  angle  in  any  apartment,  and  this  defect  arises  from  the 
contempt  they  bear  to  practical  geometry,  which  they  despise 
as  vulgar  and  mechanic;  those  instructions  they  give  being  too 
refined  for  the  intellects  of  their  workmen,  which  occasions 
perpetual  mistakes.  And  although  they  are  Dexterous  enough 
upon  a  piece  of  paper,  in  the  management  of  the  rule,  the 
pencil,  and  the  divider,  yet  in  the  common  actions  and  behavior 
of  life  I  have  not  seen  a  more  clumsy,  awkward,  and  unhandy 
people,  nor  so  slow  and  perplexed  in  their  conceptions  upon  all 


106  JONATHAN  SWIFT 

other  subjects  except  those  of  mathematics  and  music.  They 
are  very  bad  reasoners,  and  vehemently  given  to  opposition, 
unless  when  they  happen  to  be  of  the  right  opinion,  which  is 
seldom  their  case.  Imagination,  fancy,  and  invention  they  are 
wholly  strangers  to,  nor  have  any  words  in  their  language  by 
which  those  ideas  can  be  expressed,  the  whole  compass  of  their 
thoughts  and  mind  being  shut  up  within  the  two  forementioned 
sciences. 

Most  of  them,  and  especially  those  who  deal  in  the  astronom- 
ical part,  have  great  faith  in  judicial  astrology,  although  they 
are  ashamed  to  own  it  publicly.  But  what  I  chiefly  admired, 
and  thought  altogether  unaccountable,  was  the  strong  disposi- 
tion I  observed  in  them  towards  news  and  politics,  perpetually 
inquiring  into  public  affairs,  giving  their  judgments  in  matters 
of  state,  and  passionately  disputing  every  inch  of  a  party  opin- 
ion. I  have,  indeed,  observed  the  same  disposition  among  most 
of  the  mathematicians  I  have  known  in  Europe,  although  I 
could  never  discover  the  least  analogy  between  the  two  sciences, 
unless  those  people  suppose  that  because  the  smallest  circle  has 
as  many  degrees  as  the  largest,  therefore  the  regulation  and 
management  of  the  world  require  no  more  abilities  than  the 
handling  and  turning  of  a  globe.  But  I  rather  take  this  quality 
to  spring  from  a  very  common  infirmity  of  human  nature,  in- 
clining us  to  be  most  curious  and  conceited  in  matters  where 
we  have  least  concern,  and  for  which  we  are  least  adapted  by 
study  or  nature. 

These  people  are  under  continual  disquietudes,  never  enjoy- 
ing a  minute's  peace  of  mind;  and  their  disturbances  proceed 
from  causes  which  very  little  affect  the  rest  of  mortals.  Their 
apprehensions  arise  from  several  changes  they  dread  in  the 
celestial  bodies.  For  instance,  that  the  earth,  by  the  continual 
approaches  of  the  sun  towards  it,  must  in  course  of  time  be 
absorbed  or  swallowed  up.  That  the  face  of  the  sun  will  by 
degrees  be  encrusted  with  its  own  effluvia,  and  give  no  more 
light  to  the  world.  That  the  earth  very  narrowly  escaped  a 
brush  from  the  tail  of  the  last  comet,  which  would  have  infalli- 


THE  ACADEMY  AT  LAGADO  107 

bly  reduced  it  to  ashes;  and  that  the  next,  which  they  have 
calculated  for  one-and-thirty  years  hence,  will  probably  destroy 
us.  For  if  in  its  perihelion  it  should  approach  within  a  certain 
degree  of  the  sun  (as  by  their  calculations  they  have  reason  to 
dread),  it  will  receive  a  degree  of  heat  ten  thousand  times  more 
intense  than  that  of  red-hot,  glowing  iron;  and  in  its  absence 
from  the  sun,  carrying  a  blazing  tail  ten  hundred  thousand  and 
fourteen  miles  long,  through  which  if  the  earth  should  pass  at 
the  distance  of  one  hundred  thousand  miles  from  the  nucleus, 
or  main  body  of  the  comet,  it  must  in  its  passage  be  set  on  fire, 
and  reduced  to  ashes.  And  the  sun,  daily  spending  its  rays 
without  any  nutriment  to  supply  them,  will  at  last  be  wholly 
consumed  and  annihilated;  which  must  be  attended  with  the 
destruction  of  this  earth,  and  of  all  the  planets  that  receive 
their  light  from  it. 

They  are  so  perpetually  alarmed  with  the  apprehensions  of 
these  and  the  like  impending  dangers  that  they  can  neither 
sleep  quietly  in  their  beds  nor  have  any  relish  for  the  common 
pleasures  and  amusements  of  life.  When  they  meet  an  acquaint- 
ance in  the  morning,  the  first  question  is  about  the  sun's  health, 
how  he  looked  at  his  setting  and  rising,  and  what  hopes  they 
have  to  avoid  the  stroke  of  the  approaching  comet.  This  con- 
versation they  are  apt  to  run  into  with  the  same  temper  that 
boys  discover  in  delighting  to  hear  terrible  stories  of  spirits 
and  hobgoblins,  which  they  greedily  listen  to,  and  dare  not  go 
to  bed  for  fear. 


They  spend  the  greatest  part  of  their  lives  in  observing  the 
celestial  bodies,  which  they  do  by  the  assistance  of  glasses,  far 
excelling  ours  in  goodness.  For,  although  their  largest  tele- 
scopes do  not  exceed  three  feet,  they  magnify  much  more  than 
those  of  a  hundred  with  us,  and  show  the  stars  with  greater 
clearness.  This  advantage  has  enabled  them  to  extend  their 
discoveries  much  farther  than  our  astronomers  in  Europe ; 
for  they  have  made  a  catalogue  of  ten  thousand  fixed  stars, 


108  JONATHAN  SWIFT 

whereas  the  largest  of  ours  do  not  contain  above  one  third  part 
of  that  number.  They  have  likewise  discovered  two  lesser  stars, 
or  satellites,  which  revolve  about  Mars  ; l  whereof  the  inner- 
most is  distant  from  the  center  of  the  primary  planet  exactly 
three  of  his  diameters,  and  the  outermost,  five.  The  former 
revolves  in  the  space  of  ten  hours,  and  the  latter  in  twenty- 
one  and  a  half  ;  so  that  the  squares  of  their  periodical  times 
are  very  near  in  the  same  proportion  with  the  cubes  of  their 
distance  from  the  center  of  Mars  ;  which  evidently  shows  them 
to  be  governed  by  the  same  law  of  gravitation  that  influences 
the  other  heavenly  bodies. 

They  have  observed  ninety-three  different  comets,  and  set- 
tled their  periods  with  great  exactness.  If  this  be  true  (and 
they  affirm  it  with  great  confidence),  it  is  much  to  be  wished 
that  their  observations  were  made  public,  whereby  the  theory 
of  comets,  which  at  present  is  very  lame  and  defective,  might 
be  brought  to  the  same  perfection  with  other  parts  of  astronomy. 


Although  I  cannot  say  that  I  was  ill  treated  in  this  island, 
yet  I  must  confess  I  thought  myself  too  much  neglected,  not 
without  some  degree  of  contempt  ;  for  neither  Prince  nor 
people  appeared  to  be  curious  in  any  part  of  knowledge  except 
mathematics  and  music,  wherein  I  was  far  their  inferior,  and 
upon  that  account  very  little  regarded. 

On  the  other  side,  after  having  seen  all  the  curiosities  of  the 
island,  I  was  very  desirous  to  leave  it,  being  heartily  weary  of 
those  people.  They  were  indeed  excellent  in  two  sciences  for 
which  I  have  great  esteem,  and  wherein  I  am  not  unversed  ; 
but  at  the  same  time  so  abstracted  and  involved  in  speculation 
that  I  never  met  with  such  disagreeable  companions.  I  con- 

1  This  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  statements  in  all  fiction.  In  Swift's  age, 
and  in  all  time  previous  to  the  year  1877,  Mars  was  supposed  to  be  unattended 
by  satellites.  In  the  year  named,  Professor  Hall,  an  American  astronomer,  dis- 
covered two  small  moons  revolving  about  Mars.  These  correspond  very  closely 
to  the  description  given  by  Swift. 


THE  ACADEMY  AT  LAGADO  109 

versed  only  with  women,  tradesmen,  flappers,  and  court-pages, 
during  two  months  of  my  abode  there  ;  by  which  at  last  I 
rendered  myself  extremely  contemptible,  yet  these  were  the 
only  people  from  whom  I  could  ever  receive  a  reasonable 
answer. 

I  had  obtained,  by  hard  study,  a  good  degree  of  knowledge 
in  their  language  ;  I  was  weary  of  being  confined  to  an  island 
where  I  received  so  little  countenance,  and  resolved  to  leave  it 
with  the  first  opportunity. 

There  was  a  great  Lord  at  court,  nearly  related  to  the  King, 
and  for  that  reason  alone  used  with  respect.  He  was  univer- 
sally reckoned  the  most  ignorant  and  stupid  person  among 
them.  He  had  performed  many  eminent  services  for  the  Crown, 
had  great  natural  and  acquired  parts,  adorned  with  integrity 
and  honor  ;  but  so  ill  an  ear  for  music  that  his  detractors  re- 
ported he  had  been  often  known  to  beat  time  in  the  wrong 
place  ;  neither  could  his  tutors  without  extreme  difficulty 
teach  him  to  demonstrate  the  most  easy  proposition  in  the 
mathematics.  He  was  pleased  to  show  me  many  marks  of 
favor,  often  did  me  the  honor  of  a  visit,  desired  to  be  informed 
in  the  affairs  of  Europe,  the  laws  and  customs,  the  manners 
and  learning  of  the  several  countries  where  I  had  traveled. 
He  listened  to  me  with  great  attention,  and  made  very  wise 
observations  on  all  I  spoke.  He  had  two  flappers  attending 
him  for  state,  but  never  made  use  of  them  except  at  court  and 
in  visits  of  ceremony,  and  would  always  command  them  to 
withdraw  when  we  were  alone  together. 

I  entreated  this  illustrious  person  to  intercede  in  my  behalf 
with  His  Majesty  for  leave  to  depart,  which  he  accordingly 
did,  as  he  was  pleased  to  tell  me,  with  regret ;  for  indeed 
he  had  made  me  several  very  advantageous  offers,  which,  how- 
ever, I  refused,  with  expressions  of  the  highest  acknowledg- 
ment. 

On  the  16th  of  February  I  took  leave  of  His  Majesty  and  the 
court.  The  King  made  me  a  present  to  the  value  of  two 
hundred  pounds  English;  and  my  protector,  his  kinsman,  as 


110  JONATHAN   SWIFT 

much  more,  together  with  a  letter  of  recommendation  to  a 
friend  of  his  in  Lagado,  the  metropolis.  The  island  being  then 
hovering  over  a  mountain  about  two  miles  from  it,  I  was  let 
down  from  the  lowest  gallery,  in  the  same  manner  as  I  had 
been  taken  up. 

The  continent,  as  far  as  it  is  subject  to  the  monarch  of  the 
flying  island,  passes  under  the  general  name  of  JSalnibar'bi  ; 
and  the  metropolis,  as  I  said  before,  is  called  Lagado.  I  felt 
some  little  satisfaction  in  finding  myself  on  firm  ground.  I 
walked  to  the  city  without  any  concern,  being  clad  like  one  of 
the  natives,  and  sufficiently  instructed  to  converse  with  them. 
I  soon  found  out  the  person's  house  to  whom  I  was  recom- 
mended, presented  my  letter  from  his  friend,  the  grandee  in 
the  island,  and  was  received  with  much  kindness.  This  great 
Lord,  whose  name  was  Munodi,  ordered  me  an  apartment  in 
his  own  house,  where  I  continued  during  my  stay,  and  was 
entertained  in  a  most  hospitable  manner. 

The  next  morning  after  my  arrival  he  took  me  in  his  chariot 
to  see  the  town,  which  is  about  half  the  bigness  of  London  ; 
but  the  houses  are  very  strangely  built,  and  most  of  them  out 
of  repair.  The  people  in  the  streets  walked  fast,  looked  wild, 
their  eyes  fixed,  and  were  generally  in  rags.  We  passed 
through  one  of  the  town  gates,  and  went  about  three  miles 
into  the  country,  where  I  saw  many  laborers  working  with 
several  sorts  of  tools  in  the  ground,  but  was  not  able  to 
conjecture  what  they  were  about ;  neither  did  I  observe 
any  expectation  either  of  corn  or  grass,  although  the  soil 
appeared  to  be  excellent.  I  could  not  forbear  admiring  at 
these  odd  appearances,  both  in  town  and  country  ;  and  I 
made  bold  to  desire  my  conductor  that  he  would  be  pleased  to 
explain  to  me  what  could  be  meant  by  so  many  busy  heads, 
hands,  and  faces,  both  in  the  streets  and  the  fields,  because  I 
did  not  discover  any  good  effects  they  produced,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  I  never  knew  a  soil  so  unhappily  cultivated,  houses 
so  ill-contrived  and  so  ruinous,  or  a  people  whose  countenances 
and  habits  expressed  so  much  misery  and  want. 


THE  ACADEMY  AT  LAG  ADO  111 

This  Lord  Munodi  was  a  person  of  the  first  rank,  and  had 
been  some  years  governor  of  Lagado  ;  but,  by  a  cabal  of  min- 
isters, was  discharged  for  insufficiency.  However,  the  King 
treated  him  with  tenderness,  as  a  well-meaning  man,  but  of 
a  low,  contemptible  understanding. 

When  I  gave  that  free  censure  of  the  country  and  its  inhab- 
itants, he  made  no  farther  answer  than  by  telling  me  that  I  had 
not  been  long  enough  among  them  to  form  a  judgment,  and 
that  the  different  nations  of  the  world  had  different  customs, 
with  other  common  topics  to  the  same  purpose.  But  when  we 
returned  to  his  palace  he  asked  me  how  I  liked  the  building, 
what  absurdities  I  observed,  and  what  quarrel  I  had  with  the 
dress  or  looks  of  his  domestics.  This  he  might  safely  do, 
because  everything  about  him  was  magnificent,  regular,  and 
polite.  I  answered,  that  his  Excellency's  prudence,  quality, 
and  fortune  had  exempted  him  from  those  defects  which  folly 
and  beggary  had  produced  in  others.  He  said  if  I  would 
go  with  him  to  his  country  house,  about  twenty  miles  dis- 
tant, where  his  estate  lay,  there  would  "be  more  leisure  for 
this  kind  of  conversation.  I  told  his  Excellency  that  I  was 
entirely  at  his  disposal  ;  and  accordingly  we  set  out  next 
morning. 

During  our  journey  he  made  me  observe  the  several -metheds 
used  by  farmers  in  managing  their  lands,  which  to  me  were 
wholly  unaccountable  ;  for,  except  in  some  very  few  places,  I 
could  not  discover  one  ear  of  corn  or  blade  of  grass.  But  in 
three  hours'  traveling  the  scene  was  wholly  altered ;  we  came 
into  a  most  beautiful  country ;  farmers'  houses  at  small  dis- 
tances, neatly  built ;  the  fields  inclosed,  containing  vineyards, 
corn  grounds,  and  meadows.  Neither  de  I  remember  to  have 
seen  a  more  pleasant  prospect.  His  Excellency  observed  my 
countenance  clear  up ;  he  told  me,  with  a  sigh,  that  there 
his  estate  began,  and  would  continue  the  same  till  we  should 
come  to  his  house  ;  that  his  countrymen  ridiculed  and  despised 
him  for  managing  his  affairs  no  better,  and  for  setting  so  ill 
an  example  to  the  kingdom ;  which,  however,  was  followed 


112  JONATHAN  SWIFT 

by  very  few,  such  as  were  old  and  willful  and  weak,  like 
himself.1 

We  came  at  length  to  the  house,  which  was  indeed  a  noble 
structure,  built  according  to  the  best  rules  of  architecture. 
The  fountains,  gardens,  walks,  avenues,  and  groves  were  all  dis- 
posed with  exact  judgment  and  taste.  I  gave  due  praises  to 
everything  I  saw,  whereof  his  Excellency  took  not  the  least 
notice  till  after  supper  ;  when,  there  being  no  third  companion, 
he  told  me,  with  a  very  melancholy  air,  that  he  doubted  he 
must  throw  down  his  houses  in  town  and  country,  to  rebuild 
them  after  the  present  mode ;  destroy  all  his  plantations,  and 
cast  others  into  such  a  form  as  modern  usage  required,  and 
give  the  same  directions  to  his  tenants,  unless  he  would  submit 
to  incur  the  censure  of  pride,  singularity,  affectation,  ignorance, 
caprice,  and  perhaps  increase  His  Majesty's  displeasure  ;  that 
the  admiration  I  appeared  to  be  under  would  cease  or  diminish 
when  he  had  informed  me  of  some  particulars  which  probably 
I  never  heard  of  at  court,  the  people  there  being  too  much 
taken  up  in  their  own  speculations  to  have  regard  to  what 
passed  here  below. 

The  sum  of  his  discourse  was  to  this  effect :  that  about  forty 
years  ago,  certain  persons  went  up  to  Laputa,  either  upon  busi- 
ness or  -diversion,  and,  after  five  months'  continuance,  came 
back  with  a  very  little  smattering  in  mathematics,  but  full  of 
volatile  spirits  acquired  in  that  airy  region  ;  that  these  persons, 
upon  their  return,  began  to  dislike  the  management  of  every- 
thing below,  and  fell  into  schemes  of  putting  all  arts,  sciences, 
languages,  and  mechanics  upon  a  new  foot.  To  this  end,  they 
procured  a  royal  patent  for  erecting  ah  Academy  of  Projectors 

1  This  clinging  to  inferior  systems  has  its  counterpart  in  many  facts  in  educa- 
tion. American  teachers  often  find  it  difficult  to  awaken  any  interest  in  the 
metric  system,  though  it  has  been  adopted  by  the  majority  of  modern  nations. 
For  fifty  years  after  the  decimal  point  was  invented,  it  was  found  difficult  to  bring 
it  into  common  use.  Each  decimal  was  preceded  by  a  large  circle,  indicating  its 
order,  the  circles  being  numbered  from  zero,  so  that  the  second  was  numbered 
one.  Thus  the  familiar  number  3.14159  was  written,  — 

3(0)1(1)4(2)1(3)5®  9. 


THE  ACADEMY  AT  LAG  ADO  113 

in  Lagado ;  and  the  humor  prevailed  so  strongly  among  the 
people,  that  there  is  not  a  town  of  any  consequence  in  the  king- 
dom without  such  an  Academy.  In  these  colleges  the  professors 
contrive  new  rules  and  methods  of  agriculture  and  building, 
and  new  instruments  and  tools  for  all  trades  and  manufactures  ; 
whereby,  as  they  undertake,  one  man  shall  do  the  work  of  ten, 
a  palace  may  be  built  in  a  week,  of  materials  so  durable  as  to 
last  forever  without  repairing.  All  the  fruits  of  the  earth  shall 
come  to  a  maturity  at  whatever  season  we  think  fit  to  choose, 
and  increase  a  hundred-fold  more  than  they  do  at  present ; 
with  innumerable  other  happy  proposals.  The  only  inconven- 
ience is  that  none  of  these  projects  are  yet  brought  to  perfec- 
tion ;  and  in  the  meantime,  the  whole  country  lies  miserably 
waste,  the  houses  in  ruins,  and  the  people  without  food  or 
clothes.  By  all  which,  instead  of  being  discouraged,  they  are 
fifty  times  more  violently  bent  upon  prosecuting  their  schemes, 
driven  equally  on  by  hope  and  despair.  That  as  for  himself, 
being  not  of  an  enterprising  spirit,  he  was  content  to  go  on  in 
the  old  forms,  to  live  in  the  houses  his  ancestors  had  built,  and 
act  as  they  did  in  every  part  of  life,  without  innovation.  That 
some  few  other  persons  of  quality  and  gentry  had  done  the 
same,  but  were  looked  on  with  an  eye  of  contempt  and  ill-will, 
as  enemies  to  art,  ignorant  and  ill  commonwealth's  men,  pre- 
ferring their  own  ease  and  sloth  before  the  general  improvement 
of  their  country. 

His  Lordship  added  that  he  would  not,  by  any  further  par- 
ticulars, prevent  the  pleasure  I  should  certainly  take  in  viewing 
the  grand  Academy,  whither  he  was  resolved  I  should  go.  He 
only  desired  me  to  observe  a  ruined  building  upon  the  side  of 
a  mountain  about  three  miles  distant,  of  which  he  gave  me  this 
account :  that  he  had  a  very  convenient  mill  within  half  a  mile 
of  his  house,  turned  by  a  current  from  a  large  river,  and  suffi- 
cient for  his  own  family,  as  well  as  a  great  number  of  his  ten- 
ants. That  about  seven  years  ago  a  club  of  those  projectors 
came  to  him  with  proposals  to  destroy  this  mill  and  build 
another  on  the  side  of  that  mountain,  on  the  long  ridge  whereof 

SCH.  IN  COM.  —  8 


114  JONATHAN  SWIFT 

a  long  canal  must  be  cut,  for  a  repository  of  water,  to  be  con- 
veyed up  by  pipes  and  engines  to  supply  the  mill ;  because  the 
wind  and  air  upon  a  height  agitated  the  water,  and  thereby 
made  it  fitter  for  motion ;  and  because  the  water,  descending 
down  a  declivity,  would  turn  the  mill  with  half  the  current  of 
a  river,  whose  course  is  more  upon  a  level.  He  said  that,  being 
then  not  very  well  with  the  court,  and  pressed  by  many  of  his 
friends,  he  complied  with  the  proposal ;  and  after  employing  a 
hundred  men  for  two  years,  the  work  miscarried;  the  projectors 
went  off,  laying  the  blame  entirely  upon  him,  railing  at  him 
ever  since,  and  putting  others  upon  the  same  experiment,  with 
equal  assurance  of  success,  as  well  as  equal  disappointment. 

In  a  few  days  we  came  back  to  town  ;  and  his  Excellency, 
considering  the  bad  character  he  had  in  the  Academy,  would 
not  go  with  me  himself,  but  recommended  me  to  a  friend  of 
his,  to  bear  me  company  thither.  My  Lord  was  pleased  to 
represent  me  as  a  great  admirer  of  projects,  and  a  person 
of  much  curiosity,  and  easy  belief ;  which  indeed  was  not  with- 
out truth,  for  I  had  myself  been  a  sort  of  projector  in  my 
younger  days. 

This  Academy  is  not  an  entire  single  building,  but  a  continu- 
ation of  several  houses  on  both  sides  of  a  street,  which,  growing 
waste,  was  purchased  and  applied  to  that  use. 

I  was  received  very  kindly  by  the  warden,  and  went  for 
many  days  to  the  Academy.1  Every  room  has  in  it  one  or 
more  projectors,  and  I  believe  I  could  not -have  been  in  fewer 
than  five  hundred  rooms. 

The  first  man  I  saw  was  of  a  meager  aspect,  with  sooty  hands 
and  face,  his  hair  and  beard  long,  ragged,  and  singed  in  several 
places.  His  clothes,  shirt,  and  skin  were  all  of  the  same  color. 
He  had  been  eight  years  upon  a  project  for  extracting  sunbeams 
out  of  cucumbers,  which  were  to  be  put  in  phials  hermetically 

1  Sir  Walter  Scott  has  pointed  out  the  fact  that  Swift's  idea  of  the  Academy 
was  borrowed  from  a  chapter  of  the  inexhaustible  Rabelais.  In  the  work  of  the 
great  French  humorist  it  was  a  court,  rather  than  an  academy,  that  was  de- 
scribed ;  but  the  absurdities  were  of  the  same  general  nature  in  both. 


THE  ACADEMY  AT  LAGADO  115 

sealed,  and  let  out  to  warm  the  air  in  raw  inclement  summers. 
He  told  me  he  did  not  doubt  that  in  eight  years  more  he  should 
be  able  to  supply  the  Governor's  gardens  with  sunshine  at  a 
reasonable  rate  ;  but  he  complained  that  his  stock  was  low,  and 
entreated  me  to  give  him  something  as  an  encouragement  to 
ingenuity,  especially  since  this  had  been  a  very  dear  season 
for  cucumbers.  I  made  him  a  small  present,  for  my  Lord  had 
furnished  me  with  money  on  purpose,  because  he  knew  their 
practice  of  begging  from  all  who  go  to  see  them. 

I  saw  another  at  work  to  calcine  ice  into  gunpowder  ;  who 
likewise  showed  me  a  treatise  he  had  written  concerning  the 
malleability  of  fire,  which  he  intended  to  publish. 

There  was  a  most  ingenious  architect,  who  had  contrived  a 
new  method  for  building  houses  by  beginning  at  the  roof  and 
working  downward  to  the  foundation  ;  which  he  justified  to 
me  by  the  like  practice  of  those  two  prudent  insects,  the  bee 
and  the  spider. 

There  was  a  man  born  blind,  who  had  several  apprentices 
in  his  own  condition.  Their  employment  was  to  mix  colors  for 
painters,  which  their  master  taught  them  to  distinguish  by  feel- 
ing and  smelling.  It  was,  indeed,  my  misfortune  to  find  them 
at  that  time  not  very  perfect  in  their  lessons,  and  the  professor 
himself  happened  to  be  generally  mistaken.  This  artist  is  much 
encouraged  and  esteemed  by  the  whole  fraternity. 

In  another  apartment,  I  was  highly  pleased  with  a  projector 
who  had  found  a  device  of  plowing  the  ground  with  hogs,  to 
save  the  charges  of  plows,  cattle,  and  labor.  The  method  is 
this  :  In  an  acre  of  ground,  you  bury,  at  six  inches  distance 
and  eight  deep,  a  quantity  of  acorns,  dates,  chestnuts,  and 
other  mast  or  vegetables,  whereof  these  animals  are  fondest ; 
then  you  drive  six  hundred  or  more  of  them  into  the  field, 
where,  in  a  few  days,  they  will  root  up  the  whole  ground  in 
search  of  their  feed,  and  make  it  fit  for  sowing.  It  is  true, 
upon  experiment,  they  found  the  charge  and  trouble  very  great 
and  they  had  little  or  no  crop.  However,  it  is  not  doubted 
that  this  invention  may  be  capable  of  great  improvement. 


116  JONATHAN   SWIFT 

I  went  into  another  room,  where  the  walls  and  ceiling  were 
all  hung  round  with  cobwebs,  except  a  narrow  passage  for  the 
artist  to  go  in  and  out.  At  my  entrance  he  called  aloud  to 
me,  not  to  disturb  his  webs.  He  lamented  "  the  fatal  mis- 
take the  world  had  been  so  long  in,  of  using  silkworms, ' '  while 
he  had  such  plenty  of  domestic  insects  who  infinitely  excelled 
the  former,  because  they  understood  how  to  weave,  as  well  as 
spin.  And  he  proposed,  farther,  that  by  employing  spiders,  the 
charge  of  dyeing  silks  should  be  wholly  saved  ;  whereof  I  was 
fully  convinced  when  he  showed  me  a  vast  number  of  flies 
most  beautifully  colored,  wherewith  he  fed  his  spiders,  assur- 
ing us  that  the  webs  would  take  a  tincture  from  them,  and  as 
he  had  them  of  all  hues,  he  hoped  to  fit  everybody's  fancy  as 
soon  as  he  could  find  proper  food  for  the  flies,  of  certain  gums, 
oils,  and  other  glutinous  matter,  to  give  a  strength  and  consist- 
ence to  the  threads. 

There  was  an  astronomer,  who  had  undertaken  to  place  a 
sundial  upon  the  great  weathercock  on  the  town  house,  by 
adjusting  the  annual  and  diurnal  motions  of  the  earth  and  sun, 
so  as  to  answer  and  coincide  with  all  accidental  turnings  of 
the  wind. 

I  visited  many  other  apartments,  but  shall  not  trouble  my 
reader  with  all  the  curiosities  I  observed,  being  studious  of 
brevity. 

I  had  hitherto  seen  only  one  side  of  the  Academy,  the  other 
being  appropriated  to  the  advancers  of  speculative  learning,  of 
whom  I  shall  say  something  when  I  have  mentioned  one  illus- 
trious person  more,  who  is  called  among  them  "the  universal 
artist."  He  told  us  he  had  been  thirty  years  employing  his 
thoughts  for  the  improvement  of  human  life.  He  had  two 
large  rooms  full  of  wonderful  curiosities,  and  fifty  men  at  work. 
Some  were  condensing  air  into  a  dry  tangible  substance,  by 
extracting  the  niter  and  letting  the  aqueous  or  fluid  particles 
percolate ;  others,  softening  marble  for  pillows  and  pin- 
cushions ;  others,  petrifying  the  hoofs  of  a  living  horse,  to 
preserve  them  from  foundering.  The  artist  himself  was  at 


THE  ACADEMY  AT  LAGADO  117 

that  time  busy  upon  two  great  designs  ;  the  first,  to  sow  land 
with  chaff,  wherein  he  affirmed  the  true  seminal  virtue  to  be 
contained,  as  he  demonstrated  by  several  experiments,  which  I 
was  not  skillful  enough  to  comprehend.  The  other  was,  by  a 
certain  composition  of  gums,  minerals,  and  vegetables  out- 
wardly applied,  to  prevent  the  growth  of  wool  upon  two  young 
lambs  ;  and  he  hoped,  in  a  reasonable  time,  to  propagate  the 
breed  of  naked  sheep  all  over  the  kingdom. 

We  crossed  a  walk  to  the  other  part  of  the  Academy,  where, 
as  I  have  already  said,  the  projectors  in  speculative  learning 
resided. 

The  first  professor  I  saw  was  in  a  very  large  room,  with 
forty  pupils  about  him.  After  salutation,  observing  me  to 
look  earnestly  upon  a  frame,  which  took  up  the  greatest  part 
of  both  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  room,  he  said  perhaps  I 
might  wonder  to  see  him  employed  in  a  project  for  improving 
speculative  knowledge  by  practical  and  mechanical  operations. 
But  the  world  would  soon  be  sensible  to  its  usefulness  ;  and  he 
flattered  himself  that  a  more  noble,  exalted  thought  never 
sprang  into  any  other  man's  head.  Every  one  knew  how 
laborious  the  usual  method  is  of  attaining  to  arts  and  sciences  ; 
whereas,  by  his  contrivance,  the  most  ignorant  person,  at  a 
reasonable  charge,  and  with  a  little  bodily  labor,  might  write 
books  in  philosophy,  poetry,  politics,  laws,  mathematics,  and 
theology,  without  the  least  assistance  from  genius  or  study. 
He  then  led  me  to  the  frame,  about  the  sides  whereof  all  his 
pupils  stood  in  ranks.  It  was  twenty  feet  square,  placed  in 
the  middle  of  the  room.  The  superficies  was  composed  of 
several  bits  of  wood,  about  the  bigness  of  a  die,  but  some  larger 
than  others.  They  were  all  linked  together  by  slender  wires. 
These  bits  of  wood  were  covered,  on  every  square,  with  paper 
pasted  on  them  ;  and  on  these  papers  were  written  all  the 
words  of  their  language,  in  their  several  moods,  tenses,  and 
declensions ;  but  without  any  order.  The  professor  then 
desired  me  to  observe  ;  for  he  was  going  to  set  his  engine  at 
work.  The  pupils,  at  his  command,  took  each  of  them  hold  of 


118  JONATHAN  SWIFT 

an  iron  handle,  whereof  there  were  forty  fixed  round  the  edges  of 
the  frame  ;  and  giving  them  a  sudden  turn,  the  whole  disposi- 
tion of  the  words  was  entirely  changed.  He  then  commanded 
six-and-thirty  of  the  lads  to  read  the  several  lines  softly,  as 
they  appeared  upon  the  frame,  and  where  they  found  three  or 
four  words  together  that  might  make  part  of  a  sentence,  they 
dictated  to  the  four  remaining  boys,  who  were  scribes.  This 
work  was  repeated  three  or  four  times,  and  at  every  turn  the 
engine  was  so  contrived  that  the  words  shifted  into  new  places, 
as  the  square  bits  of  wood  moved  upside  down.1 

Six  hours  a  day  the  young  students  were  employed  in  this 
labor  ;  and  the  professor  showed  me  several  volumes  in  large 
folio,  already  collected,  of  broken  sentences,  which  he  intended 
to  piece  together,  and  out  of  those  rich  materials  to  give  the 
world  a  complete  body  of  all  arts  and  sciences  ;  which,  however, 
might  be  still  improved  and  much  expedited,  if  the  public 
would  raise  a  fund  for  making  and  employing  five  hundred 
such  frames  in  Lagado,  and  oblige  the  managers  to  contribute 
in  common  their  several  collections. 

He  assured  me  that  this  invention  had  employed  all  his 
thoughts  from  his  youth;  that  he  had  emptied  the  whole  vocab- 
ulary into  his  frame,  and  made  the  strictest  computation  of 
the- general  proportion  there  is  in  books  between  the  number  of 
particles,  nouns,  and  verbs,  and  other  parts  of  speech. 

I  made  my  humblest  acknowledgment  to  this  illustrious  per- 
son for  his  great  communicativeness,  and  promised,  if  ever 
I  had  the  good  fortune  to  return  to  my  native  country,  that  I 
would  do  him  justice  as  the  sole  inventor  of  this  wonderful 
machine,  the  form  and  contrivance  of  which  I  desired  leave 
to  delineate  on  paper.  I  told  him,  although  it  was  the 
custom  of  our  learned  in  Europe  to  steal  inventions  from 
each  other  (who  had  thereby  at  least  this  advantage,  that  it 
became  a  controversy  which  was  the  right  owner),  yet  I 


1  This  is  a  severe  stricture  upon  the  old  routine  work  of  grammar-teaching, 
which  was  strangely  stupid  and  unfruitful. 


THE  ACADEMY  AT  LAG  ADO  119 

would  take  such  caution  that  he  should  have  the  honor  entire 
without  a  rival. 

We  next  went  to  the  school  of  languages,  where  three  pro- 
fessors sat  in  consultation  upon  improving  that  of  their  own 
country. 

The  first  project  was  to  shorten  discourse  by  cutting  poly- 
syllables into  one,  and  leaving  out  verbs  and  particles,  because, 
in  reality,  all  things  imaginable  are  but  nouns. 

The  other  project  was  a  scheme  for  entirely  abolishing  all 
words  whatsoever ;  and  this  was  urged  as  a  great  advantage  in 
point  of  health,  as  well  as  brevity.  For  it  is  plain  that  every 
word  we  speak  is,  in  some  degree,  a  diminution  of  our  lungs  by 
corrosion,  and  consequently  contributes  to  the  shortening  of  our 
lives.  An  expedient  was  therefore  offered  that,  since  words 
are  only  names  for  things,  it  would  be  more  convenient  for  all 
men  to  carry  about  them  such  things  as  were  necessary  to  ex- 
press a  particular  business  they  are  to  discourse  on.  And  this 
invention  would  certainly  have  taken  place,  to  the  great  ease 
as  well  as  health  of  the  subject,  if  the  women,  in  conjunction 
with  the  vulgar  and  illiterate,  had  not  threatened  to  raise  a 
rebellion  unless  they  might  be  allowed  the  liberty  to  speak  with 
their  tongues,  after  the  manner  of  their  forefathers;  such  con- 
stant irreconcilable  enemies  to  science  are  the  common  people. 

However,  many  of  the  most  learned  and  wise  adhere  to 
the  new  scheme  of  expressing  themselves  by  things  ;  which 
has  only  this  inconvenience  attending  it,  that  if  a  man's  busi- 
ness be  very  great,  and  of  various  kinds,  he  must  be  obliged, 
in  proportion,  to  carry  a  greater  bundle  of  things  upon  his 
back,  unless  he  can  afford  one  or  two  strong  servants  to  attend 
him.  I  have  often  beheld  two  of  these  sages  almost  sinking 
under  the  weight  of  their  packs,  like  peddlers  among  us  ;  who, 
when  they  met  in  the  street  would  lay  down  their  loads,  open 
their  sacks,  and  hold  conversation  for  an  hour  together  ;  then 
put  up  their  implements,  help  each  other  to  resume  their  bur- 
dens, and  take  their  leave. 

But  for  short  conversations,  a  man  may  carry  implements  in 


120  JONATHAN  SWIFT 

his  pockets,  and  under  his  arms,  enough  to  supply  him;  and 
in  his  house  he  can  not  be  at  a  loss.  Therefore  the  room  where 
company  meet  who  practice  this  art  is  full  of  all  things,  ready 
at  hand,  requisite  to  furnish  matter  for  this  kind  of  artificial 
converse.1 

Another  great  advantage  proposed  by  this  invention  was, 
that  it  would  serve  as  a  universal  language,  to  be  understood 
in  all  civilized  nations,  whose  goods  and  utensils  are  generally 
of  the  same  kind,  or  nearly  resembling,  so  that  their  uses 
might  easily  be  comprehended.  And  thus  Ambassadors  would 
be  qualified  to  treat  with  foreign  Princes  or  Ministers  of  State, 
to  whose  tongues  they  were  utter  strangers. 

I  was  at  the  mathematical  school,  where  the  master  taught 
his  pupils  after  a  method  scarcely  imaginable  to  us  in  Europe. 
The  proposition  and  demonstration  were  fairly  written  on  a 
thin  wafer,  with  ink  composed  of  a  cephalic  tincture.  This 
the  student  was  to  swallow  upon  a  fasting  stomach,  and  for 
three  days  following  eat  nothing  but  bread  and  water.  As  the 
wafer  digested,  the  tincture  mounted  to  his  brain,  bearing  the 
composition  along  with  it.  But  the  success  has  not  hitherto 
been  answerable,  partly  by  some  error  in  the  quantum  or 
proportion,  and  partly  by  the  perverseness  of  lads,  to  whom 
this  bolus  is  so  nauseous  that  they  generally  steal  aside  and 
discharge  it  upwards,  before  it  can  operate;  neither  have  they 
been  yet  persuaded  to  use  so  long  an  abstinence  as  the  pre- 
scription requires. 

In  the  school  of  political  projectors,  I  was  but  ill  enter- 
tained, the  professors  appearing,  in  my  judgment,  wholly  out 
of  their  senses,  which  is  a  scene  that  never  fails  to  make  me 
melancholy.  These  unhappy  people  were  proposing  schemes 
for  persuading  monarchs  to  choose  favorites  upon  the  score  of 
their  wisdom,  capacity,  and  virtue  ;  of  teaching  ministers  to 
consult  the  public  good  ;  of  rewarding  merit,  great  abilities, 

1  This  reminds  us  that  object  teaching,  no  less  than  word-teaching,  may  be 
carried  to  excess.  Doubtless,  the  golden  mean  between  the  two  extremes  is  to 
be  sought  by  the  teacher. 


THE  ACADEMY  AT  LAG  ADO  121 

and  eminent  services ;  of  instructing  Princes  to  know  their 
true  interest,  by  placing  it  on  the  same  foundation  with  that 
of  their  people  ;  of  choosing  for  employments  persons  qualified 
to  exercise  them ;  with  many  other  wild  impossible  chimeras, 
that  never  entered  before  into  the  heart  of  man  to  conceive  ; 
and  confirmed  in  me  the  old  observation  that  there  is  nothing 
so  extravagant  and  irrational  which  some  philosophers  have 
not  maintained  for  truth. 

But,  however,  I  shall  so  far  do  justice  to  this  part  of  the 
Academy  as  to  acknowledge  that  all  of  them  were  not  so 
visionary.  There  was  a  most  ingenious  Doctor,  who  seemed 
to  be  perfectly  versed  in  the  whole  nature  and  system  of  gov- 
ernment. This  illustrious  person  had  very  usefully  employed 
his  studies  in  finding  out  effectual  remedies  for  all  diseases  and 
corruptions  to  which  the  several  kinds  of  public  administration 
are  subject,  by  the  vices  or  infirmities  of  those  who  govern,  as 
well  as  by  the  licentiousness  of  those  who  are  to  obey. 

For  instance,  whereas  all  writers  and  reasoners  have  agreed 
that  there  is  a  strict  universal  resemblance  between  the  natural 
and  the  political  body,  can  there  be  anything  more  evident 
than  that  the  health  of  both  must  be  preserved,  and  the  diseases 
cured  by  the  same  prescriptions  ?  It  is  allowed  that  Senates 
and  great  Councils  are  often  troubled  with  redundant,  ebullient, 
and  other  peccant  humors ;  with  many  diseases  of  the  head,  and 
more  of  the  heart ;  with  strong  convulsions,  with  grievous  con- 
tractions of  the  nerves  and  sinews  in  both  hands,  but  especially 
the  right ;  with  spleens,  flatus,  vertigoes,  and  deliriums  ;  with 
scrofulous  tumors,  full  of  fetid,  purulent  matter  ;  with  sour, 
frothy  ructations ;  with  canine  appetites,  and  crudeness  of 
digestion,  besides  many  others,  needless  to  mention.  This 
Doctor  therefore  proposed  that,  upon  the  meeting  of  the 
Senate,  certain  physicians  should  attend  at  the  three  first  days 
of  their  sitting,  and,  at  the  close  of -each  day's  debate,  feel 
the  pulse  of  every  Senator ;  after  which,  having  maturely  con- 
sidered and  consulted  upon  the  nature  of  the  several  maladies, 
and  the  methods  of  cure,  they  should  on  the  fourth  day  return 


122  JONATHAN  SWIFT 

to  the  Senate  house,  attended  by  their  apothecaries  stored  with 
proper  medecines,  and,  before  the  members  sat,  administer 
to  each  of  them  lenitives,  aperitives,  abstersives,  corrosives, 
restringents,  palliatives,  laxatives,  cephallagics,  icterics,  apo- 
phlegmatics,  acoustics,  as  their  several  cases  required,  and,  ac- 
cording as  these  medicines  should  operate,  repeat,  alter,  or 
omit  them  at  the  next  meeting. 

This  project  could  not  be  of  any  great  expense  to  the  public, 
and  might,  in  my  opinion,  be  of  much  use  for  the  dispatch  of 
business  in  those  countries  where  Senates  have  any  share  in 
the  legislative  power ;  beget  unanimity,  shorten  debates,  open 
a  few  mouths  which  are  now  closed,  and  close  many  more  which 
are  now  open ;  curb  the  petulancy  of  the  young,  and  correct 
the  positiveness  of  the  old ;  rouse  the  stupid,  and  damp  the 
pert. 

Again,  —  because  it  is  a  general  complaint  that  the  favorites 
of  Princes  are  troubled  with  short  and  weak  memories,  the 
same  Doctor  proposed,  that  whoever  attended  a  First  Minister, 
after  having  told  his  business  with  the  utmost  brevity  and  in 
the  plainest  words,  should,  at  his  departure,  give  the  said 
Minister  a  tweak  by  the  nose,  or  a  kick  on  the  belly,  or  tread 
on  his  corns,  or  lug  him  thrice  by  both  ears,  or  pinch  his  arm 
black  and  blue,  to  prevent  forgetfulness,  and,  at  every  levee- 
day,  repeat  the  same  operation,  till  the  business  were  done 
or  absolutely  refused. 

He  likewise  directed  that  every  Senator  in  the  great  Council 
of  a  nation,  after  he  had  delivered  his  opinion  and  argued  in 
the  defense  of  it,  should  be  obliged  to  give  his  vote  directly 
contrary ;  because  if  that  were  done,  the  result  would  infalli- 
bly terminate  in  the  good  of  the  public. 

When  parties  in  a  state  are  violent,  he  offered  a  wonderful 
contrivance  to  reconcile  them.  The  method  is  this :  you  take 
a  hundred  leaders  of  each  party ;  you  dispose  them  into  couples, 
of  such  whose  heads  are  nearest  of  a  size ;  then  let  two  nice 
operators  saw  off  the  occiput  of  each  couple  at  the  same  time, 
in  such  a  manner  that  the  brain  may  be  equally  divided.  Let 


123 

the  occiputs,  thus  cut  off,  be  interchanged,  applying  each  to 
the  head  of  his  opposite  party  man.  It  seems  indeed  to  be  a 
work  that  requires  some  exactness,  but  the  professor  assured 
us  that,  if  it  were  dexterously  performed,  the  cure  would  be 
infallible.  For  he  argued  thus  :  that  the  two  half-brains, 
being  left  to  debate  the  matter  between  themselves  within  the 
space  of  one  skull,  would  soon  come  to  a  good  understanding, 
and  produce  that  moderation,  as  well  as  regularity  of  thinking, 
so  much  to  be  wished  for  in  the  heads  of  those  who  imagine 
they  come  into  the  world  only  to  watch  and  govern  its  motion. 
And  as  to  the  difference  of  brains,  in  quantity  or  quality, 
among  those  who  are  directors  in  faction,  the  Doctor  assured 
us,  from  his  own  knowledge,  that  it  was  a  perfect  trifle. 

I  heard  a  very  warm  debate  between  two  Professors,  about 
the  most  commodious  and  effectual  ways  and  means  of  raising 
money  without  grieving  the  subject.  The  first  affirmed  the 
justest  method  would  be  to  lay  a  certain  tax  upon  vices  and 
folly,  and  the  sum  fixed  upon  every  man  to  be  rated,  after 
the  fairest  manner,  by  a  jury  of  his  neighbors.  The  second 
was  of  an  opinion  directly  contrary  —  to  tax  those  qualities  of 
body  and  mind  for  which  men  chiefly  value  themselves,  the 
rate  to  be  more  or  less,  according  to  the  degrees  of  excelling ; 
the  decision  whereof  should  be  left  entirely  to  their  own  breast. 
The  highest  tax  was  upon  men  who  are  the  greatest  favorites 
of  the  other  sex,  and  the  assessments,  according  to  the  number 
and  nature  of  the  favors  they  have  received  ;  for  which  they 
are  allowed  to  be  their  own  vouchers.  Wit,  valor,  and  polite- 
ness were  likewise  proposed  to  be  largely  taxed  and  collected 
in  the  same  manner,  by  every  person's  giving  his  own  word 
for  the  quantum  of  what  he  possessed.  But  as  to  honor,  jus- 
tice, wisdom,  and  learning,  they  should  not  be  taxed  at  all  ; 
because  they  are  qualifications  of  so  singular  a  kind  that  no 
man  will  either  allow  them  in  his  neighbor  or  value  them  in 
himself. 

The  women  were  proposed  to  be  taxed  according  to  their 
beauty  and  skill  in  dressing,  wherein  they  had  the  same  privi- 


124  JONATHAN  SWIFT 

lege  with  the  men,  to  be  determined  by  their  own  judgment. 
But  constancy,  chastity,  good  sense,  and  good-nature  were  not 
rated,  because  they  would  not  bear  the  charge  of  collecting. 

To  keep  Senators  in  the  interest  of  the  Crown,  it  was  pro- 
posed that  the  members  should  raffle  for  employments,  every 
man  first  taking  an  oath  and  giving  security  that  he  would  vote 
for  the  Court,  whether  he  won  or  not ;  after  which,  the  losers 
had,  in  their  turn,  the  liberty  of  raffling  upon  the  next  vacancy. 
Thus,  hope  and  expectation  would  be  kept  alive  ;  none  would 
complain  of  broken  promises,  but  impute  their  disappointments 
wholly  to  fortune,  whose  shoulders  are  broader  and  stronger 
than  those  of  a  Ministry. 

Another  Professor  showed  me  a  large  paper  of  instructions 
for  discovering  plots  and  conspiracies  against  the  government. 
He  advised  great  statesmen  to  examine  into  the  diet  of  all 
suspected  persons  ;  their  times  of  eating  ;  and  upon  which  side 
they  lay  in  bed. 

The  whole  discourse  was  written  with  great  acuteness,  con- 
taining many  observations,  both  curious  and  useful  for  politi- 
cians, but  as  I  conceived  not  altogether  complete.  This  I 
ventured  to  tell  the  author,  and  offered,  if  he  pleased,  to 
supply  him  with  some  additions.  He  received  my  proposition 
with  more  compliance  than  is  usual  among  writers,  especially 
those  of  the  projecting  species,  professing  he  would  be  glad  to 
receive  further  information. 

I  told  him  that  in  the  kingdom  of  Tribnia,1  by  the  natives 
called  Langdon,2  where  I  had  sojourned  some  time  in  my 
travels,  the  bulk  of  the  people  consist  in  a  manner  wholly  of 
discoverers,  witnesses,  informers,  accusers,  prosecutors,  evi- 
dence swearers,  together  with  their  several  subservient  and 
subaltern  instruments,  all  under  the  colors,  the  conduct,  and 
the  pay  of  Ministers  of  State  and  their  deputies.  The  plots  in 

1  Great  Britain  is  intended.     "  Tribnia  "  is  an  anagram  of  Britain. 

2  London  is  meant.     The  name  is  variously  pronounced  by  the  inhabitants  of 
the  city.    A  pronunciation  nearly  approaching  Za/m'u  is  affected  by  some.    Others 
give  to  the  name  a  nasal  sound  similar  to  the  pronunciation  here  expressed. 


THE  ACADEMY  AT  LAG  ADO  125 

that  kingdom  are  usually  the  workmanship  of  those  persons 
who  desire  to  raise  their  own  characters  of  profound  politi- 
cians ;  to  restore  new  vigor  to  a  crazy  administration  ;  to  stifle 
or  divert  general  discontents  ;  to  fill  their  coffers  with  forfei- 
tures ;  and  raise  or  sink  the  opinion  of  public  credit,  as  either 
shall  best  answer  their  private  advantage.  It  is  first  agreed 
and  settled  among  them  what  suspected  persons  shall  be  accused 
of  a  plot ;  then  effectual  care  is  taken  to  secure  all  their  letters 
and  papers  and  put  the  owners  in  chains.  These  papers  are 
delivered  to  a  set  of  artists,  very  dexterous  in  finding  out  the 
mysterious  meanings  of  words,  syllables,  and  letters  ;  for  in- 
stance, they  can  discover  a  flock  of  geese  to  signify  a  Senate  ; 
a  lame  dog,  an  invader  ;  the  plague,  a  standing  army  ;  a 
buzzard,  a  Prime  Minister  ;  the  gout,  a  High  Priest ;  a  gibbet, 
a  Secretary  of  State ;  a  sieve,  a  court  lady  ;  a  broom,  a  revolu- 
tion ;  a  mouse-trap,  an  employment ;  a  bottomless  pit,  a 
treasury  ;  a  sink,  a  court  ;  a  cap  and  bells,  a  favorite  ;  a 
broken  reed,  a  court  of  justice  ;  an  empty  tun,  a  general ; 
a  running  sore,  the  administration.1 

When  this  method  fails,  they  have  two  others  more  effectual, 
which  the  learned  among  them  call  acrostics  and  anagrams. 
First,  they  can  decipher  all  initial  letters  into  political  mean- 
ings. Thus,  N  shall  signify  a  plot ;  B,  a  regiment  of  horse  ; 
L,  a  fleet  at  sea  ;  or  secondly,  by  transposing  the  letters  of  the 
alphabet  in  any  suspected  paper,  they  can  lay  open  the  deepest 
designs  of  a  discontented  party. 

The  Professor  made  me  great  acknowledgments  for  commu- 
nicating these  observations,  and  promised  to  make  honorable 
mention  of  me  in  his  treatise. 

I  saw  nothing  in  this  country  that  could  invite  me  to  a 
longer  continuance,  and  began  to  think  of  returning  home  to 
England. 

Laputa  and  its  dependencies  form  part  of  the   continent, 


1  Not  one  of  these  symbols  is  chosen  at  random.    Keen  satire  is  found  in  each 
of  them. 


126  JONATHAN   SWIFT 

which  extends  itself,  as  I  have  reason  to  believe,  eastward,  to 
that  unknown  tract  of  America,  westward  of  California  ;  and 
north,  to  the  Pacific  Ocean,  which  is  not  above  a  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  from  Lagado  ;  where  there  is  a  good  port,  and  much 
commerce  with  the  great  island  of  Luggnagg,  situated  to  the 
northwest  about  29  degrees  north  latitude,  and  140  longitude. 
This  island  of  Luggnagg  stands  south-eastward  of  Japan,  about 
a  hundred  leagues  distant.  There  is  a  strict  alliance  between  the 
Japanese  Emperor  and  the  King  of  Luggnagg  ;  which  affords 
frequent  opportunities  of  sailing  from  one  island  to  the  other. 
I  determined  therefore  to  direct  my  course  this  way,  in  order 
to  hasten  my  return  to  Europe.  I  hired  two  mules,  with  a 
guide  to  show  me  the  way  and  carry  my  small  baggage.  I 
took  leave  of  my  noble  protector,  who  had  shown  me  so  much 
favor,  and  who  made  me  a  generous  present  at  my  departure. 


Ill 

POPE 
BERQUIN 


127 


ALEXANDER   POPE 

POPE,  the  great  poet  of  the  "Augustan  Age  "  of  English  literature  (the 
age  of  Queen  Anne),  was  born  in  the  glorious  year  1688,  near  Windsor,  in 
England.  His  father,  a  retired  merchant,  secured  capable  tutors  for  him, 
but  Pope  never  enjoyed  the  association  of  other  boys  in  his  studies,  and  was 
a  stranger  to  school  and  college  life. 

In  youth  he  exhibited  remarkable  precocity.  His  oft-quoted  Ode  on  Soli- 
tude was  written  before  he  was  twelve  years  of  age.  At  sixteen  he  composed 
Pastorals,  and  at  eighteen  The  Messiah,  both  fashioned  after  classic  models, 
the  last-named  being  a  close  imitation  of  Vergil's  Pollio.  Other  brilliant 
achievements  followed  in  quick  succession,  and  Pope  became  the  reigning 
favorite  in  letters,  amazing  all  by  the  flash  of  his  burnished  couplets  and 
the  splendor  of  his  effects. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-four,  he  undertook  the  great  task  of  translating 
Homer's  Iliad  into  English,  and  transformed  the  grand  and  rolling  poetry 
of  the  Greek  epic  into  elegantly  turned  couplets.  He  reaped  a  golden 
harvest,  and  honors  were  showered  upon  him.  He  purchased  an  estate  at 
Twickenham,  in  the  vicinity  of  London,  and  busied  himself  in  adorning  it. 
Here  he  held  a  sort  of  court,  and  reigned  over  the  literary  world  of  Great 
Britain. 

In  person  he  was  exceedingly  delicate.  He  could  not  stand  erect  unless 
he  was  sewed  up  in  canvas  stays.  He  could  neither  smoke  nor  drink  with 
other  men  (and  these  were  almost  universal  habits  of  literary  men  of  his 
time).  He  could  not  keep  late  hours  with  his  hearty  friends.  He  wore 
three  pairs  of  stockings  upon  his  attenuated  limbs.  His  whole  life  was  a 
struggle  against  disease,  though  he  prolonged  his  days  to  the  age  of  fifty-six, 
thanks  to  the  excellent  care  which  he  received. 

Pope  never  married.  He  was  ever  the  spoiled  child  of  a  proud  and 
indulgent  mother.  Gradually  his  many  friends  visited  him  less  and  less, 
feeling  perhaps  unpleasantly  the  restraints  of  companionship  with  one  so 
unsuited  to  their  coarser  habits  of  life. 

For  some  years  after  he  took  up  his  residence  at  Twickenham,  Pope 

busied  himself  with  translating  Homer's  Odyssey  and  editing  Shakspeare. 

After  his  literary  friends  ceased  to  make  of   his  home  an  assembly  hall, 

estrangements  came.     His  works  were  criticised  —  generally  by  men  of  far 

sen.  IN  COM.  —  9  129 


130  ALEXANDER  POPE 

less  genius  and  penetration  than  he  possessed.  He  wreaked  upon  them  an 
unexampled  vengeance,  hurling  against  them  a  burning,  terrible  satire,  The 
Dunciad,  which  "  fell  among  his  opponents  like  an  exterminating  thunder- 
bolt." There  is  nothing  else  in  literature  to  be  compared  to  it.  It  is,  of 
course,  a  mock-heroic  poem.  The  title  is  imitated  from  Homer's  Iliad 
(from  the  city  of  Ilium,  or  Troy),  Vergil's  ^Eneid  (from  .(Eneas,  a  Trojan 
hero),  and  Camoens'  Lusiad  (from  Lusus,  the  fabled  founder  of  Lisbon), 
etc.  It  is,  in  fact,  the  epic  of  the  Dunces.  It  represents  the  Goddess 
Dulness1  selecting  a  ruler  for  her  vast  empire. 

Theobald,  a  Shakspearean  critic,  ia  chosen.  "  Besides  being  grossly  dull 
and  stupid,"  says  Edward  Everett  Hale,  "  Theobald  had  been  stupid  enough 
to  point  out  (correctly)  that  Pope's  edition  of  Shakspeare  might  have  been 
better  if  more  care  and  pains  had  been  spent  upon  it.  So  he  was  to  be  the 
chief  dullard.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  dethroned,  in  a  second  version 
of  the  poem,  by  Colley  Gibber,  the  witty  actor  who  had  ridiculed  a  comedy 
that  Pope  had  a  hand  in.  Gibber  was  hardly  dull,  but  he  had  been  dull 
enough  to  attack  Pope.  '  And  so  with  all.  The  poem  is  so  disfigured  by 
personal  venom,  spite,  and  malice,  that  though  we  can  easily  enjoy  the  keen 
satire  and  much  of  the  humor  (much  of  it  is  disgusting),  though  we  can 
read  the  poem  with  pleasure,  we  gain  from  it  but  little  respect  for  the 
writer." 

It  would  seem  that  the  fourth  book  deserves  a  different  criticism.  It 
performs  a  real  service  to  society,  and  especially  to  the  cause  of  education. 
It  is  often  called  The  Greater  Dunciad,  —  not  because  of  its  length,  but 
from  its  greater  worth.  It  portrays  a  system  of  education  diametrically 
opposite  to  that  of  Pestalozzi.  It  is  a  classic  which  the  progressive  teacher 
needs  as  a  part  of  his  equipment.  Thus  armed  and  armored  he  is  stronger, 
bolder,  and  more  sure.  The  Dunciad,  consisting  at  first  of  three  books,  was 
first  issued  in  1728.  The  Greater  Dunciad  did  not  appear  until  fourteen 
years  later. 

Of  Pope's  many  other  poems,  the  Essay  on  Criticism,  The  Rape  of  the  Lock, 
Essay  on  Man,  Epistles,  and  Satires  are  the  most  important. 

Pope  is  described  as  an  artificial  poet.  The  exactness  and  finish  of  his 
couplets,  the  monotonous  perfection  of  his  verses,  is  suggestive  not  of 
nature,  but  of  art.  His  style  of  poetry  found  many  imitators  devoid  of  his 
ability,  and  sank  in  the  estimation  of  critics.  A  wholly  different  school  of 
poets  succeeded,  in  whose  works  we  find  little  to  remind  us  of  the  formality 
and  precision  which  characterized  the  poetry  of  the  age  of  Queen  Anne. 
From  the  low  estimation  in  which  the  "  mechanical  verse  "  of  Pope  has  been 
held,  a  reaction  is  apparent.  There  is  a  returning  appreciation  of  his  genius. 

1  The  preferred  form  of  this  word  at  the  present  time  is  dullness.  As  a  proper 
name,  it  is  here  given  the  form  employed  by  Pope. 


THE  GREATER  DUNCIAD  131 

And  probably  no  other  of  his  poems  is  of  greater  service  to  the  later  world 
than  the  one  in  which  he  satirizes  a  false  and  paralyzing  educational  system, 
of  which  traces  yet  linger  in  many  of  the  schools  of  our  own  day. 

Pope's  private  life  was  pure,  his  habits  unexceptionable.  He  was  true  to 
his  friends,  and  generous  to  the  needy.  He  passed  gently  away  in  1744, 
seeming  to  fall  into  a  peaceful  slumber. 


THE   GEEATER  DUNCIAD 

(Abbreviated) 

The  goddess  Dulness  comes  in  her  majesty  to  destroy  science  and  order,  and  to 
inaugurate  the  reign  of  Dunces. 

Now  flamed  the  Dog  star's  unpropitious  ray, 
Smote  every  brain,  and  withered  every  bay  ; 
Sick  was  the  sun,  the  owl  forsook  his  bower, 
The  moonstruck  prophet  felt  the  madding  hour ; 
Then  rose  the  seed  of  Chaos  and  of  Night, 
To  blot  out  order,  and  extinguish  light, 
Of  dull  and  venal  a  new  world  to  mold, 
And  bring  Saturnian  days  of  lead  and  gold.1 
She  mounts  the  throne  ;  her  head  a  cloud  concealed, 
In  broad  effulgence  all  below  revealed  ; 
('Tis  thus  aspiring  Dulness  ever  shines.) 
Soft  on  her  lap  her  Laureate  son  reclines. 
Beneath  her  footstool,  Science  groans  in  chains, 
And  Wit  dreads  exile,  penalties,  and  pains. 
There  foamed  rebellious  Logic,  gagged  and  bound, 
There  stripped,  fair  Rhetoric  languished  on  the  ground ; 
His  blunted  arms  by  Sophistry  are  borne, 
And  shameless  Billingsgate  her  robes  adorn. 
Morality,  by  her  false  guardians  drawn, 
(Chicane  in  furs,  and  Casuistry  in  lawn,) 

1  Lead  represents  dullness ;  gold,  venality. 


132  ALEXANDER  POPE 

Gasps,  as  they  straighten  at  each  end  the  cord, 

And  dies  when  Dulness  gives  her  Page1  the  word, 

Mad  Mathesis2  alone  was  unconfined  5 

Too  mad  for  mere  material  chains  to  bind, 

Now  to  pure  space  lifts  her  ecstatic  stare, 

Now,  running  round  the  circle,  finds  its  square.3 

But  held  in  tenfold  bonds  the  Muses  lie, 

Watched  both  by  Envy's  and  by  Flattery's  eye : 

There  to  her  heart  sad  Tragedy  addrest 

The  dagger  wont  to  pierce  the  tyrant's  breast ; 

But  sober  History  restrained  her  rage, 

And  promised  vengeance  on  a  barbarous  age. 

There  sunk  Thali'a,4  nerveless,  cold,  and  dead, 

Had  not  her  sister,  Satire,  held  her  head  ; 

Nor  couldst  thou,  Chesterfield  !  6  a  tear  refuse  ; 

Thou  wep'st,  and  with  thee  wept  each  gentle  Muse. 

The  dull  and  venal  are  drawn  about  the  goddess  by  a  common  instinct. 

And  now  had  Fame's  all-piercing  trumpet  blown, 
And  all  the  nations  summoned  to  the  throne. 
The  young,  the  old,  who  feel  her  inward  sway, 
One  instinct  seizes,  and  transports  away. 
None  need  a  guide,  by  sure  attraction  led, 
And  strong  impulsive  gravity  of  head  ; 
None  want  a  place,  for  all  their  center  found, 
Hung  to  the  goddess  and  cohered  around. 
Not  closer,  orb  in  orb,  conglobed  are  seen 
The  buzzing  bees  about  their  dusky  queen. 
The  gathering  number,  as  it  moves  along, 
Involves  a  vast  involuntary  throng, 

1  Judge  Page,  an  English  jurist  ever  ready  to  hang  the  defendant. 

2  Learning  ;  a  Greek  word,  referring  especially  to  mathematical  science. 

8  Referring  to  the  efforts  of  scholars  in  the  time  of  Pope  to  "square"  the 
circle. 

*  The  Muse  who  presided  over  comedy  and  idyllic  poetry. 

6  Lord  Chesterfield,  who  vindicated  in  Parliament  the  rights  of  authors. 


THE  GREATER  DVNCIAb  133 

Who,  gently  drawn,  and  struggling  less  and  less, 
Roll  in  her  vortex  and  her  power  confess  ; 
Not  those  alone  who,  passive,  own  her  laws, 
But  who,  weak  rebels,  more  advance  her  cause. 
Whate'er  of  Dunce  hi  college  or  in  town 
Sneers  at  another  in  toupee  or  gown ; 
Whate'er  of  mongrel  no  one  class  admits, 
A  wit  with  Dunces,  and  a  Dunce  with  wits. 
Nor  absent  they,  no  members  of  her  state, 
Who  pay  her  homage  in  her  sons,  the  great ; 
Who,  false  to  Pho3bus,  bow  the  knee  to  Baal,1 
Or,  impious,  preach  his  word  without  a  call ; 
Patrons,  who  sneak  from  living  worth  to  dead, 
Withhold  the  pension,  and  set  up  the  head  ;  2 
Or  vest  dull  flattery  in  the  sacred  gown  ; 
Or  give  from  fool  to  fool  the  laurel  crown ; 
And  (last  and  worst)  with  all  the  cant  of  wit, 
Without  the  soul,  the  Muse's  hypocrite. 

The  goddess  addresses  the  assemblage. 

When  Dulness  smiling  : 3  ' '  Thus  revive  the  wits  ! 
But  murder,  first,  and  mince  them  all  to  bits  ; 
As  erst  Medea  (cruel,  so  to  save  !) 
A  new  edition  of  old  ^son  gave ; 
Let  standard  authors,  thus-  like  trophies  borne, 
Appear  more  glorious  as  more  hacked  and  torn. 
And  you,  my  critics  !  in  the  chequer 'd  shade, 
Admire  new  light  through  holes  yourselves  have  made. 

Leave  not  a  foot  of  verse,  a  foot  of  stone, 
A  page,  a  grave,  that  they  can  call  their  own  ; 
But  spread,  my  sons,  your  glory  thin  or  thick, 
On  passive  paper,  or  on  solid  brick." 

1  Phoebus  and  Baal  were  divinities  of  ancient  mythology. 

2  Neglect  the  starving  genius  while  he  lives,  and  set  up  a  monument  in  his 
honor  after  his  death. 

8  The  omission  of  the  word  says,  in  such  cases  as  this,  is  common  in  epic  poetry. 


134  ALEXANDER  POPE 

A  birch-crowned  specter,  the  representative  of  schoolmasters,  rises  to  present  an 
address.  He  assures  the  goddess  that  it  is  the  care  of  schools  to  keep  youths 
out  of  the  way  of  real  knowledge,  by  confining  them  to  words. 

Now  crowds  on  crowds  around  the  goddess  press, 
Each  eager  to  present  the  first  address. 
Dunce,  scorning  Dunce,  beholds  the  next  advance, 
But  fop  shows  fop  superior  complaisance. 
When  lo!  a  specter  rose,  whose  index  hand 
Held  forth  the  virtue  of  the  dreadful  wand; 
His  beavered  brow  a  birchen  garland J  wears, 
Dropping  with  infants'  blood,  and  mothers'  tears. 
O'er  every  vein  a  shuddering  horror  runs; 
Eton 2  and  Winton  shake  through  all  their  sons. 
All  flesh  is  humbled;   Westminster's  bold  race 
Shrink,  and  confess  the  genius  of  the  place; 
The  pale  boy  Senator  yet  tingling  stands, 
And  holds  his  breeches  close  with  both  his  hands. 

Then  thus:    "  Since  man  from  beast  by  words  is  known, 
Words  are  man's  province;  words  we  teach  alone. 
When  reason,  doubtful,  like  the  Samian  letter,3 
Points  him  two  ways,  the  narrower  is  the  better. 
Placed  at  the  door  of  learning,  youth  to  guide, 
We  never  suffer  it  to  stand  too  wide. 
To  ask,  to  guess,  to  know,  as  they  commence, 
As  fancy  opens  the  quick  springs  of  sense, 
We  ply  the  memory,  we  load  the  brain, 
Bind  rebel  wit,  and  double  chain  on  chain; 
Confine  the  thought,  to  exercise  the  breath, 
And  keep  them  in  the  pale  of  words  till  death, 
Whate'er  the  talents,  or  howe'er  designed, 
We  hang  one  jingling  padlock  on  the  mind." 

1  The  birchen  garland  was  an  appropriate  emblem  for  the  old-time  teacher. 

2  Eaton,  Winton,  and  Westminster  are  old  and  famous  schools  of  England. 

8  The  Greek  letter  upsilon,  represented  graphically  in  the  English  alphabet 
by  Y.  In  the  school  of  the  Samian  Pythagoras  it  was  made  the  symbol  of  the 
parting  of  the  ways  —  of  the  choice  between  virtue  and  vice. 


THE  GREATER  DUNCIAD  135 

Aristarchus  addresses  the  goddess,  and  demonstrates  that  the  Universities  fol- 
low essentially  the  same  plan  as  that  pursued  in  the  schools,  mincing  words 
and  devoting  themselves  to  minute  criticism. 

"  Mistress!  dismiss  that  rabble  from  your  throne. 
Avaunt  —  is  Aristarchus J  yet  unknown  ? 
Thy  mighty  scholiast,  whose  unwearied  pains 
Made  Horace  dull,  and  humbled  Milton's  strains ! 
Turn  what  they  will  to  verse,  their  toil  is  vain; 
Critics  like  me  shall  make  it  prose  again. 
Roman  and  Greek  grammarians!  know  your  better; 
Author  of  something  yet  more  great  than  letter; 
While,  towering  o'er  your  alphabet,  like  Saul, 
Stands  our  Digamma,2  and  o'ertops  them  all. 
'Tis  true,  on  words  is  still  our  whole  debate, 
Disputes  of  we,  or  te,z  of  aut  or  at; 
To  sound  or  sink,  in  cano,  O  or  A,4 
Or  give  up  Cicero  to  C  or  K.5 
Let  Friend  6  affect  to  speak  as  Terence  spoke, 
And  Al§op  never  but  like  Horace  joke: 
For  me,  what  Vergil,  Pliny  may  deny, 
Manilius7  or  Solinus  shall  supply: 


1  A  famous  critic  of  old  time.    The  name  is  here  used  to  denote  a  complete 
critic. 

2  A  tall  letter  of  the  JEolic  Greek,  resembling  the  English  F.     It  was 
proposed  in  the  time  of  Pope  to  restore  this  letter  to  new  editions  of  the 
Iliad. 

8  It  was  a  matter  of  serious  dispute  among  editors  of  Horace,  the  Latin  poet, 
whether  a  line  in  the  first  Ode  of  Horace  should  begin  with  me  or  te. 

*  A  question  as  to  the  proper  stress  of  the  voice  in  reading  the  first  line  of 
Vergil's  JEneid.  This  was  to  Pope  a  seemingly  unworthy  trifle  for  scholars 
to  discuss ;  but  at  the  present  time  the  vocal  rendering  of  Latin  verse  is  a 
matter  of  careful  consideration. 

6  The  Germans  gave  the  sound  of  k  to  the  letter  C  in  Cicero.  The  English 
generally  pronounced  Latin  words  according  to  English  analogy.  In  the  Roman 
pronunciation  of  Latin,  which  prevails  in  the  United  States  at  the  present  time, 
c  has  the  sound  of  k. 

6  Friend  was  Master  of  Westminster  School ;  Alsop,  an  imitator  of  Horace. 

7  Manilius  and  Solinus  were  inferior  Latin  authors  of  ancient  time.     Solinus 
is  called  "  Pliny's  ape." 


136  ALEXANDER  POPE 

For  Attic  phrase  in  Plato  let  them  seek, 

I  poach  in  Suidas J  for  unlicensed  Greek. 

In  ancient  sense  if  any  needs  will  deal, 

Be  sure  I  give  them  fragments,  not  a  meal: 

What  Gellius  or  Stobseus  2  hashed  before, 

Or  chewed  by  blind  old  socialists  o'er  and  o'er. 

The  critic  eye,  that  microscope  of  wit, 

Sees  hairs  and  pores,  examines  bit  by  bit; 

How  parts  relate  to  parts,  or  they  to  whole, 

The  body's  harmony,  the  beaming  soul, 

Are  things  which  Kuster,  Burman,  Wasse2  shall  see 

When  man's  whole  frame  is  obvious  to  a  flea. 

"  Ah,  think  not,  Mistress  !  more  true  dullness  lies 
In  folly's  cap  than  wisdom's  grave  disguise. 
Like  buoys  that  never  sink  into  the  flood, 
On  learning's  surface  we  but  lie  and  nod. 
Thine  is  the  genuine  head  of  many  a  house, 
And  much  divinity  without  a  roO?.3 
Nor  could  a  Barrow  work  on  every  block,  * 
Nor  has  one  Atterbury  spoiled  the  flock. 
See  !    Still  thy  own,  the  heavy  cannon  roll, 
And  metaphysic  smokes  involve  the  pole. 
For  thee  we  dim  the  eyes,  and  stuff  the  head 
With  all  such  reading  as  was  never  read; 
For  thee  explain  a  thing  till  all  men  doubt  it, 
And  write  about  it,  goddess,  and  about  it! 
So  spins  the  silkworm  small  its  slender  store, 
And  labors  till  it  clouds  itself  all  o'er." 

The  goddess  graciously  responds,  and  impresses  upon  the  Universities  the  one 
essential  thing  to  teach. 

"  Oh  "  (cried  the  goddess)  "  for  some  pedant  reign  ! 
Some  gentle  James,  to  bless  the  land  again; 

1  A  dictionary  writer  of  poor  judgment. 

2  Gellius,  Stobseus,  Kuster,  Burman,  and  Wasse  were  all  minute  critics. 

8  Intellect  (intended  to  rhyme  with  fiouse,  but  properly  pronounced  noose'). 


THE  GREATER  DUNCIAD  137 

To  stick  the  doctor's  chair  into  the  throne, 
Give  law  to  words,  or  war  with  words  alone; 
Senates  and  courts  with  Greek  and  Latin  rule, 
And  turn  the  Council  to  a  grammar  school !  l 
For  sure,  if  Dulness  sees  a  grateful  day, 
'Tis  in  the  shade  of  arbitrary  sway. 
O  if  my  sons  may  learn  one  earthly  thing, 
Teach  but  that  one,  sufficient  for  a  King ; 
That  which  my  priests,  and  mine  alone,  maintain, 
Which  as  it  dies  or  lives,  we  fall  or  reign. 
May  you,  my  Cam  and  Isis,2  preach  it  long  ! 
The  Right  Divine  of  Kings  to  govern  wrong." 

A  crowd  of  University  delegates  approaches,  led  by  the  critic  Aristarchus. 

Prompt  at  the  call,  around  the  goddess  roll 
Broad  hats  and  hoods  and  caps,  a  sable  shoal ; 
Thick  and  more  thick  the  black  blockade  extends, 
A  hundred  head  of  Aristotle's  friends. 
Nor  Avert  thou,  Isis  !  wanting  to  the  day,  — 
Though  Christ  Church  3  long  kept  prudishly  away.  — 
Each  stanch  polemic,  stubborn  as  a  rock, 
Each  fierce  logician,  still  expelling  Locke,4 
Came,  whip  and  spur,  and  dashed  through  thin  and  thick, 
On  German  Crouzaz  and  Dutch  Burgersdyck. 
As  many  quit  the  streams  that  murmuring  fall 
To  lull  the  sons  of  Margaret  and  Clarehall,6 

1  James  the  First  of  England  and  Sixth  of  Scotland,  who  was  so  famous  for 
his  pedantry  that  politicians  sought  to  gain  his  favor  by  purposely  committing 
blunders,  which  gave  their  royal  master  an  opportunity  to  display  his  learning 
by  correcting  them. 

2  The  great  English  universities  are  located  upon  the  banks  of  the  Cam  and 
Isis  rivers.     Cambridge  originally  derived  its  name  from  a  bridge  over  the  first 
of  these  ;  Oxford,  on  the  Isis,  from  a  ford  for  cattle.     Pope  uses  the  names  of 
the  rivers  to  signify  the  universities. 

8  Christ  Church  is  a  college  of  Oxford  University. 

4  Locke's  Essay  oft  the  Human  Understanding  was  censured,  and  its  reading 
was  forbidden,  by  the  heads  of  the  University  of  Oxford  in  1708. 

5  Margaret  and  Clarehall  are  English  colleges  noted  in  Pope's  time  for  their 
disputations. 


138  ALEXANDER  POPE 

Where  Bentley,1  late  tempestuous,  wont  to  sport 
In  troubled  waters,  but  now  sleeps  in  port. 
Before  them  marched  that  awful  Aristarch ; 
Plowed  was  his  front,  with  many  a  deep  remark ; 
His  hat,  which  never  veiled  to  human  pride, 
Walker2  with  reverence  took,  and  laid  aside. 
Low  bowed  the  rest;  he,  kingly,  did  but  nod; 
So  upright  Quakers  please  both  man  and  God. 
What  though  we  let  some  better  sort  of  fool 
Thrid  every  science,  run  through  every  school, 
Never  by  tumbler  through  the  hoops  was  shown, 
Such  skill  in  passing  all,  and  touching  none. 
He  may,  indeed  (if  sober  all  this  time) 
Plague  with  dispute,  or  persecute  with  rhyme. 
We  only  furnish  what  he  cannot  use, 
Or  wed  to  what  he  must  divorce,  a  Muse; 8 
Full  in  the  midst  of  Euclid4  dip  at  once, 
And  petrify  a  genius  to  a  Dunce  ; 
Or,  set  on  metaphysic  ground  to  prance, 
Show  all  his  paces,  not  a  step  advance. 
With  the  same  cement,  ever  sure  to  bind, 
We  bring  to  one  dead  level  every  mind ; 
Then  take  him  to  develop,  if  you  can, 
And  hew  the  block  off,  and  get  out  the  man.5 
But  wherefore  waste  I  words !     I  see  advance 
A  pupil,  and  laced  governor  from  France. 
Walker,  our  hat  —  no  more  he  deigned  to  say, 
But,  stern  as  Ajax'  specter,  strode  away. 


1  Bentley  was  a  Cambridge  critic. 

2  Walker,  also  of  Cambridge,  was  the  constant  friend  of  Bentley. 

8  One  of  the  nine  goddesses  fabled  by  the  ancient  Greeks  and  Romans  to  pre- 
side over  literature,  science,  and  the  arts.  Their  names  were :  Calli'ope,  Cli'o, 
Er'ato,  Euter'pe,  Melpom'ene,  Polyhym'nia,  Terpsich'ore,  Thali'a,  and  Ura'nia. 

4  A  famous  mathematician  of  antiquity. 

6  An  allusion  to  the  odd  conceit  of  an  ancient  sculptor,  that  every  block  of 
marble  contains  already  an  exquisite  piece  of  sculpture,  which  requires  only  the 
removal  of  the  superfluous  marble  confining  it. 


THE  GREATER  DUNCIAD  139 

The  University  men  are  driven  away  by  an  advancing  crowd  of  boys  returned 
from  travel  under  the  charge  of  tutors.  A  representative  tutor  presents  to  the 
goddess  a  ruined  youth  and  his  mistress.  The  goddess  graciously  receives  the 
boy,  and  frees  him  from  sense  of  shame. 

In  flowed  at  once  a  gay  embroidered  race, 
And,  tittering,  pushed  the  pedants  off  the  place. 
Some  would  have  spoken,  but  the  voice  was  drowned 
By  the  French  horn,  or  by  the  opening  hound. 
The  first  came  forward  with  as  easy  mien 
As  if  he  saw  St.  James's 1  and  the  Queen, 
When  thus  the  attendant  orator  begun  : 
"Receive,  great  Empress,  thy  accomplished  son, 
Thine  from  his  birth,  and  sacred  from  the  rod, 
A  dauntless  infant,  never  scared  with  God.2 
The  sire  saw,  one  by  one,  his  virtues  wake ; 
The  mother  begged  the  blessing  of  a  rake. 
Thou  gavest  that  ripeness  which  so  soon  began, 
And  ceased  so  soon,  he  ne'er  was  boy  nor  man. 
Through  school  and  college, 'thy  kind  cloud  o'ercast, 
Safe  and  unseen  the  young  jKneas  past ; 
Thence  bursting  glorious,  all  at  once  let  down, 
Stunned  with  his  giddy  larum  half  the  town. 
Intrepid,  then,  o'er  seas  and  lands  he  flew  ; 
Europe  he  saw,  and  Europe  saw  him,  too. 
There  all  thy  gifts  and  graces  we  display  ; 
Thou,  only  thou,  directing  all  our  way  ! 
To  where  the  Seine,  obsequious  as  she  runs, 
Pours  at  great  Bourbon's  feet  her  silken  sons ; 
Or  Tiber,  now  no  longer  Roman,  rolls, 
Vain  of  Italian  arts,  Italian  souls  ; 
To  happy  convents,  bosomed  deep  in  vines, 
Where  slumber  Abbots,  purple  as  their  wines ; 


1  St.  James's  Palace,  London. 

2  The  youth  "  never  scared  with  God,"  who  "ne'er  was  boy  nor  man,"  is  one 
of  the  saddest  products  of  a  vicious  system  of  education. 


140  ALEXANDER    POPE 

To  isles  of  fragrance,  lily-silvered  vales, 
Diffusing  languor  in  the  panting  gales  ; 
To  lands  of  singing  or  of  dancing  slaves, 
Love-whispering  woods,  and  lute-resounding  waves. 
But  chief  her  shrine  where  naked  Venus  keeps, 
And  Cupids  ride  the  lion  of  the  deeps ; * 
Where,  eased  of  fleets,  the  Adriatic  main 
Wafts  the  smooth  eunuch"  and  enamored  swain. 
Led  by  my  hand,  he  sauntered  Europe  round, 
And  gathered  every  vice  on  Christian  ground  ; 
Saw  every  court,  heard  every  King  declare 
His  royal  sense  of  operas  or  the  fair  ; 
The  stews  and  palace  equally  desired, 
Intrigued,  with  glory  and  with  spirit  fired, 
Tried  all  hors-d'oeuvres,*  all  liqueurs^  defined, 
Judicious  drank,  and  greatly  daring,  dined  ; 
Dropped  the  dull  lumber  of  the  Latin  store, 
Spoiled  his  own  language,  and  acquired  no  more  ; 
All  classic  learning  lost  on  classic  ground  ; 
At  last  turned  air,  the  echo  of  a  sound  ! 
See  now,  half-cured,  and  perfectly  well-bred, 
With  nothing  but  a  solo  in  his  head  ; 
As  much  estate  and  principle  and  wit, 
As  Jansen,  Fleetwood,  Gibber  4  shall  think  fit ; 
Stolen  from  a  duel,  watched  by  every  one, 
And,  if  a  borough  choose  him,  not  undone  ; 
See,  to  my  country,  happy,  I  restore 
This  glorious  youth,  and  add  one  Venus  more." 
Pleased  she  accepts  the  hero  and  the  dame, 
Wraps  in  her  veilT  and  frees  from  sense  of  shame. 


1  The  Lion  of  St.  Mark  is  the  ensign  of  Venice,  formerly  a  power  on  the 
Adriatic. 

2  Things  out  of  order  and  propriety. 
8  Liquors. 

4  Three  eminent  managers  of  plays  who  had  concerned  themselves  in  the  edu- 
cation of  youths,  after  a  fashion  none  too  strict. 


THE    GREATER    DUNCIAD  141 

A  crowd  of  worthless' idlers  comes  before  the  goddess.  Annius,  representing 
venders  of  spurious  antiquities,  implores  the  goddess  to  make  virtuosos  of 
the  idlers. 

Then  looked,  and  saw  a  lazy,  lolling  sort, 
Unseen  at  church,  at  senate,  or  at  court, 
Of  ever-listless  loiterers,  that  attend 
No  cause,  no  trust,  no  duty,  and  no  friend. 
Thee,  too,  my  Paridel,1  she  marked  thee  there, 
Stretched  on  the  rack  of  a  too  easy  chair, 
And  heard  thy  everlasting  yawn  confess 
The  pains  and  penalties  of  idleness. 
She  pitied,  but  her  pity  only  shed 
Benigner  influence  on  my  nodding  head. 
But  Annius,  crafty  seer,  with  ebon  wand, 
And  well-dissembled  emerald  on  his  hand, 
False  as  his  gems,  and  cankered  as.  his  coins, 
Came,  crammed  with  capon,  from  where  Pollio  2  dines. 
Soft  as  the  wily  fox  is  seen  to  creep, 
Where  bask  on  sunny  banks  the  simple  sheep, 
Walk  round  and  round,  now  prying  here,  now  there  ; 
So  he  ;  but,  pious,  whispered  first  his  prayer  : 
"  Grant,  gracious  goddess  !  grant  me  still  to  cheat ; 
O  may  thy  cloud  still  cover  the  deceit  ! 
Thy  choicer  mists  on  this  assembly  shed, 
But  pour  them  thickest  on  the  noble  head. 
So  shall  each  youth,  assisted  by  our  eyes, 
See  other  Csesars,  other  Homers  rise  ; 
Though  twilight  ages  hunt  the  Athenian  fowl,3 
Which  Chalcis,  gods,  and  mortals  call  an  owl, 
Now  see  an  Attys,  now  a  Cecrops  4  clear, 


1  The  name  is  taken  from  Spenser,  whose  Paridel  is  a  wandering  squire  or 
gentleman. 

2  Probably  Pollio  represents  the  Prince  of  Wales. 
8  The  owl  stamped  on  old  Greek  coins. 

4  Cecrops  was  the  earliest  King  of  Athens.    Probably  no  genuine  coins  of  his 
age  are  to  be  found. 


142  ALEXANDER    POPE 

Nay,  Mahomet,1  the  pigeon  at  thine  ear ; 
Be  rich  in  ancient  brass,  though  not  in  gold, 
And  keep  his  lares,  though  his  house  be  sold  : 
To  headless  Phosbe  his  fair  bride  postpone, 
Honor  a  Syrian  Prince  above  his  own ; 
Lord  of  an  Otho,  if  I  vouch  it  true, 
Blest  in  one  Niger,2  till  he  knows  of  two." 

Mummius,  another  dealer  in  alleged  antiquities,  contests  honors  with  Annius, 
and  relates  how  he  secured  genuine  antique  coins,  which  were  swallowed  to 
prevent  their  capture  by  a  pirate. 

Mummius  o'erheard  him  ;  Mummius,  fool-renowned, 
Who,  like  his  Cheops,3  stinks  above  the  ground, 
Fierce  as  a  startled  adder,  swelled,  and  said, 
Rattling  an  ancient  sistrum  at  his  head  : 
Speakest  thou  of  Syrian  Princes  ?  traitor  base  ! 
Mine,  goddess,  mine  is  all  the  horned  race. 
True,  he  had  wit,  to  make  their  value  rise  ; 
From  foolish  Greeks  to  steal  them,  was  as  wise ; 
More  glorious  yet,  from  barbarous  hands  to  keep, 
When  Sallee  rovers  chased  him  on  the  deep. 
Then,  taught  by  Hermes,  and  divinely  bold, 
Down  his  own  throat  he  risked  the  Grecian  gold. 

A  great  number  of  people  approach,  bearing  weeds  and  shells.  One  of  the  num- 
ber complains  to  the  goddess  of  the  destruction  of  a  precious  flower,  named 
in  honor  of  Queen  Caroline. 

Then,  thick  as  locusts,  blackening  all  the  ground, 
A  tribe  with  weeds  and  shells  fantastic  crowned, 

1  The  accent  is  to  be  placed  upon  the  first  syllable  of  this  word.    Mahomet 
professed  to  receive  divine  revelations  from  a  pigeon. 

2  The  poet  refers  to  alleged  bodies  of  these  ancients. 

8  This  refers  to  an  ingenious  and  amusing  imposture.  The  body  of  Cheops 
was  anciently  placed  in  the  pyramid  which  bears  his  name.  A  mummy  was 
sold  by  an  Arab  to  the  British  Consul  at  Alexandria  as  the  genuine  mummy  of 
Cheops,  and,  as  a  proof  of  its  genuineness,  the  Consul  quoted  Sandys  to  prove 
that  the  royal  sepulcher  was  at  that  moment  empty.  But  the  same  was  true 
in  the  time  of  Herodotus. 


THE    GREATER    DUNCIAD  143 

Each  with  some  wondrous  gift,  approached  the  power, 

A  nest,  a  toad,  a  fungus,  or  a  flower.1 

But  far  the  foremost,  two,  with  earnest  zeal 

And  aspect  ardent,  to  the  throne  appeal. 

The  first  thus  opened  :   "  Hear  thy  suppliant's  call, 

Great  Queen,  and  common  mother  of  us  all! 

Fair  from  its  humble  bed  I  reared  this  flower, 

Suckled,  and  cheered,  with  air,  and  sun,  and  shower ; 

Soft  on  the  paper  ruff  its  leaves  I  spread, 

Bright  with  the  gilded  button  tipped  its  head  ; 

Then  throned  in  glass,  and  named  it  Caroline  ; 

Each  maid  cried,  '  Charming! '  and  each  youth,  '  Divine! ' 

Did  nature's  pencil  ever  blend  such  rays, 

Such  varied  light  in  one  promiscuous  blaze  ! 

Now  prostrate  !  dead  !  behold  that  Caroline. 

No  maid  cries,  '  Charming  !  '  and  no  youth,  '  Divine  ! ' 

And  lo,  the  wretch  !  whose  vile,  whose  insect  lust 

Laid  this  gay  daughter  of  the  spring  in  dust. 

Oh,  punish  him,  or  to  the  Elysian  shades 

Dismiss  my  soul,  where  no  carnation  fades  !  " 

He  ceased,  and  wept.     With  innocence  of  mien, 

The  accused  stood  forth,  and  thus  addressed  the  Queen. 

The  offender  explains  to  the  goddess  that  he  crushed  the  flower  in  securing  a  valu- 
able butterfly.  Being  a  specialist,  he  has  a  contempt  for  everything  except  his 
specialty. 

' '  Of  all  the  enameled  race,  whose  silvery  wing 
Waves  to  the  tepid  zephyrs  of  the  spring 
Or  swims  along  the  fluid  atmosphere, 
Once  brightest  shined  this  child  of  heat  and  air. 


1  Pope's  contempt  for  toads,  fungi,  and  flowers,  as  objects  of  scientific  interest 
and  value,  will  not  be  appreciated  by  the  student  or  scientist  of  the  present  day. 
Some  of  the  greatest  triumphs  of  scientific  study  in  modern  times  have  been 
achieved  in  the  investigation  of  fungous  growths.  In  medicine,  especially,  such 
investigation  has  proved  of  very  great  value. 


144  ALEXANDER    POPE 

I  saw,  and  started  from  its  vernal  bower, 

The  rising  game,  and  chased  from  flower  to  flower. 

It  fled,  I  followed  ;  now  in  hope,  now  pain ; 

It  stopped,  I  stopped  ;  it  moved,  I  moved  again. 

At  last  it  fixed,  'twas  on  what  plant  it  pleased, 

And  where  it  fixed,  the  beauteous  bird  I  seized. 

Rose  or  carnation  was  below  my  care  ; 

I  meddle,  Goddess,  only  in  my  sphere. 

I  tell  the  naked  fact  without  disguise, 

And,  to  excuse  it,  need  but  show  the  prize  ; 

Whose  spoils  this  paper  offers  to  your  eye, 

Fair  even  in  death,  this  peerless  butterfly." 

The  goddess  commends  both,  and  desires  them  to  find  employment  for  the  idlers 
whom  Annius  and  Mummius  introduced,  by  leading  them  to  study  humming 
birds,  mosses,  flies,  and  other  objects  considered  trifling. 

"My  sons"  (she  answered),  "Both  have  done  your  parts; 
Live  happy  both,  and  long  promote  our  arts. 
But  hear  a  mother,  when  she  recommends 
To  your  fraternal  care  our  sleeping  friends. 
The  common  soul,  of  Heaven's  more  frugal  make, 
Serves  but  to  keep  fools  pert,  and  knaves  awake  : 
A  drowsy  watchman,  that  just  gives  a  knock, 
And  breaks  our  rest,  to  tell  us  what's  o'clock. 
Yet  by  some  object  every  brain  is  stirred ; 
The  dull  may  waken  to  a  humming  bird ; 
The  most  recluse,  discreetly  opened,  find 
Congenial  matter  in  the  cockle-kind ; 

O  ' 

The  mind,  in  metaphysics  at  a  loss, 
May  wander  in  a  wilderness  of  moss.1 


1  The  mosses  belong  to  the  class  of  plants  called  (originally  with  good  reason) 
cryptogams  (meaning  concealed  fertilization) .  The  nature  of  the  fertilization  of 
the  mosses  was  never  discovered  until  1837.  The  fertilization  of  the  "crypto- 
gams" is  now  better  understood,  and  less  "concealed,"  than  is  that  of  the 
phanerogams  (meaning  visible  fertilization).  The  study  of  the  mosses,  in  our 
day,  is  deemed  worthy  of  the  highest  genius. 


THE    GREATER    DUNCIAD  145 

Oh,  would  the  sons  of  men  once  think  their  eyes 
And  reason  given  them  but  to  study  flies  ! 
See  Nature  in  some  partial,  narrow  shape, 
And  let  the  Author  of  the  whole  escape  ; 
Learn  but  to  trifle  ;  or,  who  most  observe, 
To  wonder  at  their  Maker,  not  to  serve." 


A  representative  of  the  Freethinkers  offers  his  services  to  the  goddess. 

"  Be  that  my  task"  (replies  a  gloomy  clerk, 
Sworn  foe  to  mystery,  yet  divinely  dark ; 
Whose  pious  hope  aspires  to  see  the  day 
When  moral  evidence  shall  quite  decay, 
Condemn  implicit  faith,  and  holy  lies, 
Prompt  to  impose,  and  fond  to  dogmatize). 
"  Let  others  creep  by  timid  steps,  and  slow, 
On  plain  experience  lay  foundations  low, 
By  common  sense  to  common  knowledge  bred, 
And  last,  to  Nature's  cause  through  Nature  led. 
All-seeing  in  thy  mists,  we  want  no  guide, 
Mother  of  arrogance,  and  source  of  pride  ! 
We  nobly  take  the  high  Priori l  road, 
And  reason  downward,  till  we  doubt  of  God ; 
Make  Nature  still  encroach  upon  His  plan  ; 
And  shove  Him  off  as  far  as  e'er  we  can ; 
Thrust  some  mechanic  cause  into  his  place, 
Or  bind  in  matter,  or  diffuse  in  space, 
Or,  at  one  bound,  o'erleaping  all  His  laws, 
Make  God  man's  image,  man  the  final  cause, 
Find  virtue  local,  all  relation  scorn, 
See  all  in  self,  and  but  for  self  be  born ; 
Of  nought  so  certain  as  our  reason  still, 
Of  nought  so  doubtful  as  of  soul  and  will." 

1  Reasoning  from  assumed  cause  to  effect, 
sen.  IN  COM.  — 10 


146  ALEXANDER    POPE 

Silenits,  representing  the  ancient  Epicurean  philosophy,  delivers  to  the  god- 
dess a  company  of  youthful  Freethinkers,  to  be  turned  over  to  Magus,  her 
high  priest. 

Bland  and  familiar  to  the  throne  he  came, 
Led  up  the  youth,  and  called  the  goddess  dame. 
Then  thus  :  From  priestcraft  happily  set  free, 
Lo,  every  finished  son  returns  to  thee. 
First  slave  to  words,  then  vassal  to  a  name, 
Then  dupe  to  party  —  child  and  man  the  same  ; 
Bounded  by  nature,  narrowed  still  by  art, 
A  trifling  head,  and  a  contracted  heart. 
Thus  bred,  thus  taught,  how  many  have  I  seen, 
Smiling  on  all,  and  smiled  on  by  a  Queen. 
Then  take  them  all,  O  take  them  to  thy  breast ! 
Thy  Magus,  Goddess,  shall  perform  the  rest. 

The  youths  are  permitted  to  taste  the  cup  of  Magus,  which  renders  them  oblivi- 
ous of  religious,  moral,  and  political  obligations. 

With  that,  a  wizard  old  his  cup  extends, 
Which  whoso  tastes,  forgets  his  former  friends, 
Sire,  ancestors,  himself.     One  casts  his  eyes 
Up  to  a  star,  and  like  Endymion l  dies  ; 
A  feather,  shooting  from  another's  head, 
Extracts  his  brain,  and  principle  is  fled  ; 
Lost  is  his  God,  his  country,  everything  ; 
And  nothing  left  but  homage  to  a  king  ! 
The  vulgar  herd  turn  off  to  roll  with  hogs, 
To  run  with  horses,  or  to  hunt  with  dogs  ; 
But,  sad  example  !  never  to  escape 
Their  infamy,  still  keep  the  human  shape. 
But  she,  good  goddess,  sent  to  every  child 
Firm  impudence  or  stupefaction  mild ; 


1  An  ancient  shepherd  and  astronomer  of  Asia  Minor,  said  to  have  been  con- 
demned to  a  sleep  of  thirty  years. 


THE    GREATER    DUNCIAD  147 

And  straight  succeeded,  leaving  shame  no  room, 
Cibberian 1  forehead,  or  Cimmerian  gloom.2 
Kind  self-conceit  to  some  her  glass  applies, 
Which  no  one  looks  in  with  another's  eyes; 
But,  as  the  flatterer  or  dependent  paint, 
Beholds  himself  a  patriot,  chief,  or  saint. 
On  others  Interest  her  gay  livery  flings, 
Interest  that  waves  on  party-colored  wings; 
Turned  to  the  sun,  she  casts  a  thousand  dyes, 
And,  as  she  turns,  the  colors  fall  or  rise. 
Others  the  siren  sisters  warble  round, 
And  empty  heads  console  with  empty  sound. 
No  more,  alas!  the  voice  of  fame  they  hear, 
The  balm  of  Dulness  trickling  in  their  ear. 

The  goddess  confers  orders  and  degrees  upon  her  votaries. 

Next  bidding  all  draw  near  on  bended  knees, 
The  Queen  confers  her  titles  and  degrees. 
Her  children  first,  of  more  distinguished  sort, 
Who  study  Shakspeare  at  the  Inns  of  Court,3 
Impale  a  glow-worm,  or  vertu  profess, 
Shine  in  the  dignity  of  F.  R.  S.* 
Some,  deep  Freemasons,  join  the  silent  race, 
Worthy  to  fill  Pythagoras's  place: 
Some  botanists,  or  florists  at  the  least, 
Or  issue  members  of  an  annual  feast. 
The  last,  not  least  in  honor  or  applause, 
Isis  and  Cam  made  Doctors  of  her  Laws. 

The  goddess  blesses  her  children. 

Then  blessing  all:   "  Go,  children  of  my  care, 
To  practice,  now,  from  theory  repair. 

1  A  forehead  like  that  of  Colley  Cibber. 

2  A  reference  to  the  Cimmerii,  a  fabulous  people  of  ancient  Italy,  said  to  have 
lived  in  caves,  in  perpetual  darkness.  8  Schools  of  law. 

*  Fellow  of  the  Royal  Society  —  a  coveted  distinction. 


148  ALEXANDER    POPE 

All  my  commands  are  easy,  short,  and  full; 
My  sons,  be  proud,  be  selfish,  and  be  dull. 
Guard  my  prerogative,  assert  my  throne; 
This  nod  confirms  each  privilege  your  own.  . 
The  cap  and  switch  be  sacred  to  His  Grace; 1 
With  staff  and  pumps  the  Marquis  lead  the  race; 
From  stage  to  stage  the  licensed  Earl  may  run, 
Paired  with  his  fellow-charioteer,  the  sun; 
The  learned  Baron,  butterflies  design, 
Or  draw  to  silk  Arachne's2  subtle  line; 
The  Judge,  to  dance  his  brother  Sergeant  call ; 
The  Senator,  at  cricket  urge  the  ball; 
The  Bishop,  stow  (pontific  luxury!) 
An  hundred  souls  of  turkeys  in  a  pie; 
The  sturdy  Squire,  to  Gallic  masters  stoop, 
And  drown  his  lands  and  manors  in  a  soup. 
Others,  import  yet  nobler  arts  from  France, 
Teach  Kings  to  fiddle,  and  make  Senates  dance. 
Perhaps  more  high  some  daring  son  may  soar, 
Proud  to  my  list  to  add  one  monarch  more! 
And  nobly  conscious,  Princes  are  but  things 
Born  for  first  Ministers,  as  slaves  for  Kings, 
Tyrant  supreme!  shall  three  estates  command, 
And  make  one  mighty  Dunciad  of  the  land!  " 

The  goddess  yawns,  and  all  her  realm  is  lulled  to  slumber. 

More  she  had  spoke,  but  yawned  —  All  nature  nods. 
What  mortal  can  resist  the  yawn  of  Gods  ? 
Churches  and  chapels  instantly  it  reached; 

(St.  James's  first,  for  leaden  G 3  preached;) 

Then  catched  the  schools;  the  hall  scarce  kept  awake; 
The  convocation  gaped,  but  could  not  speak : 

1  A  Duke. 

2  The  spider's. 

*  Dr.  Gilbert,  Archbishop  of  York,  who  was  really  an  eloquent  preacher,  but 
who  had  offended  one  of  Pope's  friends. 


THE   GREATER   DITNCIAD  149 

Lost  was  the  nation's  sense,  nor  could  be  found, 

While  the  long  solid  unison  went  round. 

Wide,  and  more  wide,  it  spread  o'er  all  the  realm; 

Even  Palinurus  1  nodded  at  the  helm  ; 

The  vapor  mild  o'er  each  committee  crept; 

Unfinished  treaties  in  each  office  slept; 

And  chiefless  armies  dozed  out  the  campaign; 

And  navies  yawned  for  orders  on  the  main. 

O  Muse!  relate  (for  you  can  tell  alone 
Wits  have  short  memories,  and  Dunces  none), 
Relate  who  first,  who  last  resigned  to  rest; 
Whose  heads  she  partly,  whose  completely,  blest; 
What  charms  could  faction,  what  ambition  lull, 
The  venal  quiet,  and  entrance  the  dull; 
Till  drowned  was  sense,  and  shame,  and  right,  and  wrong — 
O  sing,  and  hush  the  nations  with  thy  song! 


Chaos  is  restored,  and  the  world  is  left  in  darkness. 

In  vain,  in  vain  —  the  all-composing  hour 
Resistless  falls;  the  Muse  obeys  the  power. 
She  comes!  she  comes!  the  sable  throne  behold 
Of  Night  primeval,  and  of  Chaos  old! 
Before  her,  Fancy's  gilded  clouds  decay, 
And  all  its  varying  rainbows  die  aWay. 
Wit  shoots  in  vain  its  momentary  fires, 
The  meteor  drops,  and  in  a  flash  expires, 
As  one  by  one,  at  dread  Medea's  strain, 
The  sickening  stars  fade  off  the  ethereal  plain; 
As  Argus'  eyes,  by  Hermes' 2  wand  oppressed, 
Closed,  one  by  one,  to  everlasting  rest: 

1  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  the  English  statesman.     The  original  Palinurus  was  a 
pilot  of  .(Eneas,  who  fell  asleep  and  dropped  into  the  sea,  as  related  in  the  ^Eneid. 

2  Argus  was  a  monster  of  ancient  mythology,  said  to  have  had  a  hundred  eyes, 
which  were  put  out  by  Hermes,  or  Mercury. 


150  ALEXANDER  POPE 

Thus  at  her  felt  approach,  and  secret  might, 
Art  after  art  goes  out,  and  all  is  night. 
See  skulking  Truth  to  her  old  cavern  fled, 
Mountains  of  casuistry  heaped  o'er  her  head! 
Philosophy,  that  leaned  on  Heaven  before, 
Shrinks  to  her  second  cause,  and  is  no  more. 
Physic  of  Metaphysic  begs  defense, 
And  Metaphysic  calls  for  aid  on  Sense! 
See  Mystery  to  Mathematics  fly  ! 
In  vain!  they  gaze,  turn  giddy,  rave,  and  die. 
Religion,  blushing,  veils  her  sacred  fires, 
And  unawares  Mortality  expires. 
Nor  public  flame,  nor  private,  dares  to  shine; 
Nor  human  spark  is  left,  nor  glimpse  divine  ! 
Lo!  thy  dread  empire,  Chaos!  is  restored; 
Light  dies  before  thy  uncreating  word; 
Thy  hand,  great  anarch,  lets  the  curtain  fall, 
And  universal  darkness  buries  all. 


ARNAUD   BERQUIN 

THE   FRIEND  OF  THE  CHILDREN 

FEW  men  in  any  age  or  nation  have  contributed  so  much  to  the  delights 
of  childhood  as  did  Arnaud  Berquin  (ar-no'  bair-can'),  in  the  last  century. 
He  was  a  native  of  Bordeaux,  in  southwestern  France,  and  was  younger 
than  the  famous  Pestalozzi  by  three  years,  having  been  born  in  1749.  A 
lover  of  music,  he  began  at  an  early  age  to  write  songs,  which  immediately 
became  popular.  His  graceful  lyrics  were  sung  throughout  France,  and 
were  "  remarkable  for  their  touching  expression  of  the  tenderest  and  truest 
sentiments."  Among  these,  the  lullaby  which  begins  — 

"  Sleep,  my  child,  and  close  thine  eyes," 

and  the  Genevieve  of  Brabant  are  "always  cited  as  models  of  compositions  of 
this  class." 

The  greater  part  of  Berquin 's  songs  became  familiar  to  the  households  in 
every  part  of  the  French  kingdom,  and  not  a  few  found  an  echo  in  the 
homes  of  other  lands. 

Turning  his  attention  to  prose  composition,  Berquin  wrote  a  large  num- 
ber of  happily  conceived  historical  sketches  for  juvenile  readers,  and  also 
several  books  of  little  dramas,  which  have  rendered  his  name  ever  dear  to 
mothers  and  to  children.  He  was  one  of  the  few  of  his  day  who  addressed 
themselves  happily  to  the  comprehension  and  interest  of  the  young.  His 
Comedies  hardly  rise  above  the  ordinaiy  school  dialogue  in  plot  or  in  passion, 
and  are  free  from  the  exaggeration  and  burlesque  of  the  legitimate  drama. 
Yet  in  their  simplicity  and  truth  they  often  teach  great  lessons  of  education 
and  of  life.  And  who  can  estimate  the  influence  they  have  exerted  in  mold- 
ing the  characters  of  men  and  women  ? 

At  the  age  of  thirty-five,  Berquin  was  honored  in  a  peculiarly  graceful 
and  affectionate  manner  by  the  French  Academy.  He  received  its  annual 
prize,  which  was  awarded  to  "  the  writer  of  the  most  valuable  book."  The 
title  which  he  had  given  to  one  of  his  volumes  was  used  to  designate  the 
author  himself,  and  the  prize  was  decreed  to  "  The  Friend  of  the  Children." 

"  Berquin  was  the  man  of  his  books,"  says  Michaud's  biography.  "  His 
character  was  mild,  frank,  even  naive.  He  loved  children  dearly.  He  con- 
tributed to  their  joys,  and  shared  in  them." 

151 


152  AENAUD 

He  was  as  familiar  to  the  boys  and  girls  of  the  palace  as  to  those  of  the 
peasant's  cot.  In  1791  he  was  proposed  for  instructor  of  the  Prince  Royal, 
the  ill-starred  child  of  Louis  XVI.  and  Marie  Antoinette,  who  little  dreamed 
of  the  dark  days  in  store  in  the  near  future.  But  the  author  was  not  des- 
tined to  receive  this  distinguished  mark  of  royal  favor.  He  died  at  Paris  in 
the  same  year,  beloved  and  mourned  by  the  nation. 

More  than  a  century  has  passed  away  since  "  The  Friend  of  the  Chil- 
dren "  laid  down  his  pen;  yet  he  still  holds  a  place  among  the  writers  of 
France  whom  the  people  love. 

It  is  scarcely  possible  for  us  to  realize  that  Fashionable  Education  was 
written  so  long  ago,  and  in  a  foreign  land.  This  drama  is  to  a  certain 
extent  familiar  to  the  students  of  the  French  language  in  the  United  States, 
having  been  in  former  decades  a  favorite  exercise  for  translation  in  schools. 
In  this  way  it  has  exerted  a  greater  influence  than  would  be  realized  from  a 
casual  reading  of  so  light  a  composition.  Translation  is  not  apt  to  prove 
rapid  work  among  pupils  who  study  carefully  the  French  idioms.  Generally 
the  classes  spent  weeks  in  the  study  of  this  simple  drama ;  and  all  the  while 
the  characters  were  constantly  before  them  —  the  spoiled  Leonor,  the  weak 
and  indulgent  aunt,  the  sensible  guardian,  and  the  generous,  true,  and  loving 
Didier.  A  graphic  picture  is  given  of  some  of  the  pensions1  of  France. 
Best  of  all,  a  noble  idea  of  education  is  inculcated  in  the  minds  of  the 
young. 

Even  in  the  youths  of  Berquin's  dramas  there  is  often  a  seriousness  of 
purpose  belonging  to  riper  years,  and  a  sense  of  responsibility  in  their  prepa- 
ration for  the  duties  of  manhood  and  womanhood. 


FASHIONABLE  EDUCATION 

(L' Education  a  la  Mode) 
DRAMATIS  PERSONS  2 


M.  VERTEUIL,  guardian  of  Ldonor 
and  Didier. 

DIDIER,  a  nephew  of  Mme.  Beau- 
mont. 


M.  DUPAS,  a  dancing-master. 
MME.  BEAUMOKT. 
LEONOR,  her  niece. 
FINETTE,  a  house  servant. 


1  A  pension  is  a  French  boarding  school  for  boys  or  girls. 

2  The  names  of  these  personages  are  not  Anglicized,  but  their  pronunciation 
can  be  approximated  with  little  difficulty  by  persons  wholly  unacquainted  with 


FASHIONABLE  EDUCATION  153 

SCENE  —  A  parlor  in  the  residence  of  Mme.  Beaumont. 

Mme.  Beaumont  (receiving  M.  Verteuil,  who  has  just  been 
announced).  No,  M.  Verteuil,  I  can't  excuse  you.  For  five 
years  you  haven't  come  once  to  see  either  me  or  your  ward. 

M.  Verteuil.  I  acknowledge  it,  Madame  ;  but  the  cares  of 
my  property,  my  poor  health,  and  my  dread  of  the  difficulties 
of  the  journey  — 

Mme.  Beaumont.  Fifteen  miles  —  that's  an  immense  journey, 
really  ! 

M.  Verteuil.  It  is  a  long  way  for  me,  since  I  don't  go  about 
easily.  My  infirmities  don't  allow  me  to  run  around  the  coun- 
try or  to  hope  to  make  a  long  trip. 

Mme.  Beaumont.  And  to  what  do  we  owe  your  brave  resolu- 
tion at  last  ? 

M.  Verteuil.  To  the  desire  of  seeing  the  children  of  my  late 
friend,  Le*onor  and  Didier. 

Mme.  Beaumont.  Ah,  Le*onor,  Le*onor!  One  should  be 
willing  to  traverse  the  world  to  see  her  for  even  a  moment. 
Such  talent !  Such  spirit  ! 

M.  Verteuil.  You  awaken  in  me  a  strong  desire  to  know 
her.  Where  is  she  ?  I  must  have  the  pleasure  of  greeting 
her. 

Mme.  Beaumont.     She  is  still  at  her  toilet. 

M.  Verteuil.  At  this  hour  ?  And  Didier  —  why  has  he  not 
come  from  the  Pension  to  your  house  to  meet  me  ? 

Mme.  Beaumont.  It  was  rather  late,  yesterday,  when  you 
announced  your  visit.  The  servants  have  been  very  busy  this 
morning,  and  the  chambermaid  has  not  been  able  to  leave  my 
niece  for  a  moment. 

M.  Verteuil.  Do  me  this  kindness  to  send  at  once  for 
Didier.  In  the  meantime,  I  will  go  upstairs  and  see  his 
sister. 

French,  as  follows  :  M.  Verteuil  (moce-yur'  vair-tul',  the  u  being  sounded  as  in 
furl)  ;  Didier  (deed-e-a')  ;  M.  Dupas  (moce-yur'  du-pah')  ;  Mme.  Beaumont 
(mah-dahm'  Bo-mon')  ;  Lfionor  (la-o-nor')  ;  Finette  (fin-ef). 


154  AENAUD  BERQUIN 

Mme.  Beaumont.  No,  no,  my  dear  Verteuil;  you  would  startle 
her  so.  I'll  go  and  precede  you.  (She  goes  out.*) 

M.  Verteuil.  From  what  I  see,  Madame  Beaumont  is  rear- 
ing her  niece  as  she  herself  was  reared  —  to  dress  herself  up 
like  a  doll,  and  to  be  always  parading.  I  hope,  indeed,  that 
these  frivolities  have  not  caused  her  to  neglect  more  important 
concerns. 

Mme.  Beaumont  (reordering).  She  will  be  down  in  a 
moment.  She  has  only  a  feather  to  adjust. 

M.  Verteuil.  What,  a  feather?  And  do  you  believe  a 
feather  more  or  less  would  disturb  me  at  all  ?  Her  eagerness 
to  see  me  should  be  as  great  as  mine,  should  it  not  ? 

Mme.  Beaumont.  Certainly  as  great.  It  is  the  desire  that 
she  has  to  please  you  — 

M.  Verteuil.  Probably  it  is  not  by  means  of  her  plume  that 
she  expects  to  succeed  in  that.  And  have  you  had  the  kind- 
ness to  send  for  your  nephew  ? 

Mme.  Beaumont  (with  an  air  of  impatience).  O,  my  nephew? 
You  will  always  have  time  enough  to  see  him. 

M.  Verteuil.  You  speak  as  though  I  should  not  take  much 
satisfaction  with  him. 

Mme.  Beaumont.  I  don't  say  that  he  is  downright  bad,  but 
he  is  so  disagreeable. 

M.  Verteuil.     How  so?     Is  he  unpolished,  rough,  coarse? 

Mme.  Beaumont.  Not  altogether;  they  say  that  his  head  is 
already  furnished  with  a  quantity  of  wise  matters;  but  as  for 
grace,  high  tone,  the  flower  of  gentility  — 

M.  Verteuil.  If  that's  all,  he  will  soon  develop.  And  what 
of  his  heart? 

Mme.  Beaumont.  I  don't  believe  it's  very  good  or  very  bad. 
But  Le*onor  —  how  she  is  adorned  with  perfections  !  How 
engaging  are  her  manners  !  I  don't  see  Didier  very  often. 

M.  Verteuil.     And  why  not? 

Mme.  Beaumont.  For  fear  of  interrupting  him  in  his  studies. 
Ah,  well,  when  he  is  here  I  don't  find  him  very  attentive  to 
the  lessons  he  receives  on  how  to  behave.  He  no  more  knowa 


FASHIONABLE  EDUCATION  155 

how  to  express  himself  with  gracefulness  !  I  have  left  him, 
sometimes,  in  a  group  of  ladies.  He  has  not  found  a  single 
happy  witticism  to  offer. 

M.  Verteuil.  Very  likely  the  conversation  turned  upon 
matters  with  which  he  was  unacquainted. 

Mme.  Beaumont.  A  well-bred  young  man  ought  not  to  find 
any  subject  foreign  to  him  among  ladies. 

M.  Verteuil.  A  modest  silence  is  very  becoming  at  his  age. 
It  is  now  his  place  to  listen  and  learn,  so  as  to  qualify  himself 
to  talk  when  his  time  comes. 

Mme.  Beaumont.  Gracious  !  Do  you  wish  to  make  a  doll  of 
him  —  a  doll  that  isn't  able  to  work  until  its  wheel  work  is 
wound  up  ?  Ah,  you  must  hear  Le'onor  prattle.  She  possesses 
such  ease,  such  spirit,  such  life  —  a  person  is  scarcely  able  to 
follow  her  words. 

M.  Verteuil.  We  shall  see  who  is  the  more  worthy  of  my 
affection.  You  remember  that  I  promised  their  father  to  regard 
them  as  my  own  family.  I  wish  to  redeem  that  sacred  promise. 
Since  I  cannot  tell  how  much  more  of  life  remains  to  me  on 
earth,  I  have  come  here  to  see  the  children,  to  learn  their  char- 
acter, and  to  decide,  accordingly,  the  final  disposition  of  prop- 
erty that  I  am  to  make  in  their  favor. 

Mme.  Beaumont.  Ah,  most  faithful  and  generous  of  men  ! 
My  brother,  even  in  his  grave,  will  feel  touched  by  your  kind- 
ness. As  for  me,  how  can  I  express  my  gratitude  in  behalf  of 
the  children  ? 

M.  Verteuil.  What  you  call  a  kindness  is  only  a  duty. 
Your  worthy  father  long  ago  caused  me  to  share  the  happy 
education  which  he  gave  to  his  son.  It  is  to  his  care  that  I 
owe  the  fortune  which  I  have  acquired.  I  have  no  children  of 
my  own.  His  little  ones  belong  to  me,  and  they  have  a  right, 
during  my  life  and  after  my  death,  to  the  property  which  I 
have  sought  to  amass  only  to  enrich  them. 

Mme.  Beaumont.  In  that  case  Le'onor,  as  the  more  lov- 
able— 

M.  Verteuil.     If   I   make   any   distinction,    it   will   not   be 


156  AKNAUJ)  BERQV1N 

because  of  frivolous  accomplishments,  but  it  will  be  real  quali 
ties  and  virtues  which  will  decide  my  preferences. 

Mine.  Beaumont.  Ah,  see  who  is  coming.  (Enter  L6onor, 
dressed  in  a  manner  beyond  her  station  and  her  means.} 

M.  Verteuil  (surprised).     What,  is  that  Le'onor? 

Mme.  Beaumont.  You  are  surprised,  I  see,  to  find  her  so 
charming.  (To  Ltonor.*)  You  have  kept  us  waiting,  my 
child. 

L$onor  (making  a  ceremonious  salutation  to  M.  VerteuiT). 
That  is  because  Finette  has  never  any  success  in  arranging  my 
plumes.  I  have  had  her  change  and  rearrange  them  ten 
times,  at  least.  At  last  I  sent  her  away  in  vexation,  and 
dressed  my  own  hair.  I  am  delighted,  M.  Verteuil,  to  see 
you  in  good  health. 

M.  Verteuil  (advancing  to  her,  and  extending  his  arms).  As 
for  me,  my  dear  Le'onor  —  (She  turns  away  with  a  scornful  air.*) 
What,  are  you  afraid  to  receive  me  as  a  father  ? 

Mme.  Beaumont.  Yes,  Le'onor,  as  your  father  and  benefac- 
tor. (To  M.  Verteuil.*)  You  must  pardon  her,  I  beg;  she 
has  been  reared  in  such  modesty  and  reserve. 

M.  Verteuil.  She  should  not  be  at  all  shocked  to  receive 
the  expressions  of  my  friendship.  I  owe  her,  moreover,  a 
gentle  reproach  for  having  delayed  so  long  to  satisfy  my 
impatience. 

Ltonor.  Excuse  me,  sir;  I  was  not  in  a  situation  to  be  able 
to  appear  before  you  with  propriety. 

M.  Verteuil.  A  young  lady  should  always  be  able  to  appear 
with  propriety  before  a  sincere  man.  A  modest  and  suitable 
morning  wrapper  is  all  that  is  needed  for  that  in  the  house. 

Mme.  Beaumont.  Yes,  but  to  receive  a  guest  like  yourself, 
respect  requires  — 

M.  Verteuil.  A  feather  less,  and  more  eagerness  to  greet 
a  friend  who  has  come  fifteen  miles  to  see  her.  I  declare  I 
should  have  been  at  heart  a  thousand  times  more  flattered  to 
see  my  children  —  for  they  are  mine  by  the  affection  they 
inspire,  and  by  my  friendship  for  their  father  —  to  see  them,  I 


FASHIONABLE  EDUCATION  157 

say,  running  to  me  with  open  arms,  and  overwhelming  me  with 
their  tender  caresses. 

Mme.  Beaumont.  It  is  the  reverence  with  which  you  have 
inspired  them  — 

M.  Verteuil.  We  won't  talk  any  more  about  it.  You  will 
receive  me  with  more  friendship  another  time,  won't  you, 
my  dear  Le*onor  ? 

Leonor.     I  shall  be  highly  honored. 

M.  Verteuil.  But  how  you  have  developed  since  I  have  seen 
you.  An  elegant  figure,  manners  at  ease,  elevated  deportment— 

Mme.  Beaumont.     Charming!     Delightful! 

M.  Verteuil.  All  these  advantages,  however,  are  nothing 
without  the  graces  of  modesty,  the  charm  of  affability,  the 
ingenuous  expression  of  the  feelings  of  the  heart,  and  the  cul- 
tivation of  spiritual  gifts. 

Mme.  Beaumont.  Ah,  yes  —  of  those  gifts  which  secure 
consideration  in  the  great  world. 

M.  Verteuil.  In  the  great  world,  Madame  ?  Is  that  where 
Le"onor  should  appear  ?  If  she  should  possess  only  the  qualities 
which  can  honor  her  in  a  select  circle,  and  in  the  interior  of 
her  own  home,  in  her  own  conscience,  and  in  the  sight  of  God, 
I  should  ask  nothing  more. 

Mme.  Beaumont.  O,  certainly,  M.  Verteuil ;  that  is  under- 
stood. I  wish  to  say  that  she  is  in  a  position  to  be  presented 
anywhere  with  honor.  Come,  my  dear  child,  let  us  hear  some 
pretty  piece  on  the  piano. 

Leonor.     No,  Auntie,  that  might  displease  M.  Verteuil. 

M.  Verteuil.  What  do  you  say,  my  dear  child  ?  I  am  very 
sensible  to  the  charms  of  music,  and  I  know  of  no  amusement 
more  suited  to  a  young  lady. 

Mme.  Beaumont.  And  what  is  more  worthy  of  our  admira- 
tion than  those  enchanting  gifts,  drawing,  dancing,  and  music  ? 
Le"onor,  let  us  sing  that  charming  arietta.  (^Leonor  goes  with 
a  pouting  air  to  the  piano,  and  plays  a  brief  prelude,  then  com- 
mences a  sonata.)  No,  no,  you  must  sing,  also.  She  has  such 
a  voice,  M.  Verteuil.  You  shall  hear  her.  If  you  only  knew 


158  AENAUD    BERQUIN 

what  applause  she  received  at  the  last  concert !  But  she  has 
a  little  vanity,  and  we  must  urge  her  a  good  deal. 

M.  Verteuil.  I  very  much  hope  I  shall  be  favored  without 
such  a  ceremony.  How  is  it,  Le"onor  ? 

L£onor.     You  have  only  to  command,  sir. 

M.  Verteuil.     No,  that  is  not  my  way.     I  only  request. 

Leonor.  (Low,  to  her  aunt,  while  opening  her  exercise  book  in 
vexation.^  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  this,  truly  ! 

Mme.  Beaumont.  {Low  to  L&onor.}  For  mercy's  sake, 
child,  obey.  Your  fortune  depends  upon  it. 

M.  Verteuil.  If  she  has  no  voice  to-day,  I  can  wait.  (Leo- 
nor  sings  to  an  accompaniment  on  the  piano : 

Vermeil  rose, 

That  the  zephyr,  etc. 

She  has  scarce  finished  when  Mme.  Beaumont  cries,  clapping 
her  hands,  — )  Bravo  !  Bravo  ! 

M.  Verteuil.  Really,  that  is  not  bad  for  a  child  of  her  age. 
I  should  have  preferred  a  song  more  in  accordance  with  the 
principles  which  you  inspire  in  her,  no  doubt. 

Mme.  Beaumont.  Ah,  indeed,  Monsieur  !  Don't  you  per- 
ceive the  moral  of  it  ?  (She  sings.} 

But  on  thy  stem 

Thou  wilt  languish  and  wither,  etc. 

It  means  that  a  young  person  should  advance  herself  in  the 
world  if  she  means  to  reap  any  advantage  from  her  gifts,  and 
not  to  die  unknown  in  the  depths  of  her  seclusion. 

M.  Verteuil.  Believe  me,  Madame,  there  it  is  that  one 
worthy  to  be  her  husband  would  go  to  seek  her.  {He  notices  a 
drawing  on  the  wall,  representing  a  young  shepherdess,  surprised 
in  her  sleep  by  a  faun.  He  views  it  with  surprise.} 

Mme.  Beaumont.     Ah,  how  do  you  like  it  ? 

M.  Verteuil.  Very  well  —  if  Le"onor  made  it  herself,  with- 
out the  aid  of  her  teacher. 

Mme.  Beaumont.  To  tell  the  truth,  he  did  touch  it  up  a 
little. 


FASHIONABLE    EDUCATION  159 

M.  Verteuil.  I  believe  he  would  have  done  better  to  choose 
a  happier  subject,  — •  some  trait  of  benevolence,  some  virtuous 
action  which  would  have  elevated  the  soul  while  perfecting 
the  talent. 

(Finette  enters.} 

Finette.  Sir,  your  trunks  are  coming.  Shall  I  have  them 
carried  to  your  room  ? 

M.  Verteuil  (to  Mine.  Beaumont).  You  have,  then,  the  kind- 
ness to  have  me  lodge  with  you,  Madame  ? 

Mme.  Beaumont.     With  as  much  honor  as  pleasure  to  me. 

M.  Verteuil.  Thank  you  ;  I'll  go  and  have  an  eye  to  the 
matter,  and  come  back,  (lie  goes  out  with  Finette.} 

Le'onor.     Good !     He's  gone.     I'll  breathe  again. 

Mme.  Beaumont.    Softly,  softly,  Le'onor  ;  he  might  hear  you. 

Leonor.  Let  him  hear  me  if  he  wants  to !  I  am  so  pro- 
voked, that  I  could  smash  my  piano  and  my  drawings  and  my 
exercise  book  all  to  pieces. 

Mme.  Beaumont.  Be  quiet,  my  child  ;  you  have  need  here 
for  all  your  moderation. 

Leonor.  I  think  it's  enough  to  keep  me  in  his  company. 
Haven't  you  noticed?  Haven't  you  heard? 

Mme.  Beaumont.     People  of  his  age  have  their  eccentricities. 

Leonor.  Why  bother  me  with  them  ?  It  wasn't  necessary 
for  me  to  sing  to  him.  I  didn't  wish  to  do  so.  Just  see  how 
you  always  go  ahead  !  But  he  will  come  back. 

Mme.  Beaumont.  My  dear  Le'onor,  I  pray  you,  —  perhaps  you 
don't  know  that  your  fortune  depends  wholly  upon  M.  Verteuil. 

LSonor.     My  fortune  ? 

Mme.  Beaumont.  Yes,  alas !  Must  I  tell  you  what  you 
already  owe  to  his  bounty  ? 

Le'onor.  O,  yes,  I  know,  those  little  presents  he  has  sent 
me  from  time  to  time.  I  can  get  along  very  well  without  his 
little  boxes. 

Mme.  Beaumont.  Ah,  my  dear  child,  without  him  you  would 
be  unhappy,  indeed.  What  your  father  left  to  you  for  an  in- 


160  AENAUD  BEBQUIN 

heritance  is  so  little  !  As  for  me,  I  have  only  very  moderate 
means.  How  would;  I  be  able,  with  my  slender  resources,  to 
make  the  outlay  for  your  education  ? 

Leonor.  Is  it  possible,  Auntie  ?  What,  is  it  to  him  that 
I  am  indebted  ?  Does  he  care  for  my  brother  also  ? 

Mme.  Beaumont.  It  is  he  who  pays  both  for  his  board  and 
for  his  tuition. 

LSonor.     You  have  always  concealed  this  from  me. 

Mme.  Beaumont.  Since  you  were  never  in  need,  what  did 
it  matter  that  you  should  know  this?  You  see,  now,  how 
necessary  it  is  to  manage  him  and  to  show  him  consideration 
and  respect.  But  that  is  not  all.  He  has  desired  to  see  you 
— your  brother  and  yourself  —  before  writing  his  will,  in  order 
to  determine  his  bequests  in  your  favor. 

L6onor.  How  sorry  I  am  that  I  manifested  so  much  ill- 
humor  and  vexation  ! 

Mme.  Beaumont.  It  was  bad  of  him,  also,  to  listen  so 
coolly  to  your  brilliant  voice,  and  not  be  delighted  with  your 
execution  upon  the  piano.  Whatever  he  may  be,  we  must 
flatter  him  ;  otherwise  his  preference  will  be  for  Didier. 

LSonor.     Ah,  he  deserves  it  better  than  I  do,  I  know. 

Mme.  Beaumont.  What  are  you  saying  ?  Do  yourself  more 
justice.  It's  very  little  you  know.  And  what  will  be  your 
destiny  ?  A  man  can  always  make  his  way  in  the  world.  But 
a  woman  —  what  resource  has  she  ? 

LSonor.  It  is  true.  You  make  me  feel  that  I  ought  to  learn 
things  more  useful  than  drawing,  dancing,  and  music. 

Mme.  Beaumont.  How  foolish  you  are.  With  the  fortune 
that  you  can  hope  for,  what  more  ought  a  young  lady  to 
desire  than  agreeable  gifts  to  shine  in  society  ?  It  is  necessary 
only  to  interest  M.  Verteuil  in  your  favor.  With  some  atten- 
tions and  courtesies,  we  shall  accomplish  what  we  want. 

(Finette  enters.} 

Finette.  Mademoiselle,  M.  Dupas  is  in  waiting  to  give  you 
a  lesson. 


FASHIONABLE    EDUCATION  161 

Mme.  Beaumont.     Tell  him  to  come  up  here.     (JFinette  walks 


LSonor.  No,  Auntie,  send  him  back,  I  beg.  If  I  should 
further  displease  M.  Verteuil  ! 

Mme.  Beaumont.  What  is  that  ?  He  must  see  you  dance. 
You  dance  with  such  grace.  You  will  turn  his  head,  I  am 
sure.  (She  goes  to  the  door.*)  Come  in,  come  in,  M.  Dupas. 
(M.  Dupas  enters.}  Isn't  it  true,  Monsieur,  that  my  niece 
dances  marvelously  ? 

M.  Dupas  (nodding).     Wonderfully,  Madame,  wonderfully. 

Mme.  Beaumont.  Her  instructor  will  assist  her  a  little,  per- 
haps, in  the  lesson.  Have  a  care,  Monsieur,  to  make  Le'onor's 
talent  shine  in  all  its  brightness. 

M.  Dupas.  Yes,  Madame,  and  my  own,  also.  I'll  answer 
for  that. 

(M.   Verteuil  enters.} 

Mme.  Beaumont  (taking  M.  Verteuil  by  the  hand).  Come 
and  have  a  seat  by  me,  M.  Verteuil.  I  want  you  to  see  Le"onor 
dance.  She  is  a  veritable  zephyr.  M.  Dupas,  that  new  Ger- 
man of  your  own  composition. 

Le"onor.     But  I  won't  dance  all  alone. 

Mme.  Beaumont.  M.  Dupas  will  dance  it  with  you,  and  I'll 
hum  it.  Don't  be  afraid.  I'll  accompany  you  well. 

M.  Verteuil.  Allow  me,  Madame,  to  express  a  preference 
for  a  minuet. 

M.  Dupas.  I'll  not.be  able  to  throw  much  grace  into  it  if  I 
have  to  play  at  the  same  time. 

M.  Verteuil.  It  is  not  your  ability  that  matters,  Monsieur, 
but  Le'onor's. 

M.  Dupas.  As  it  suits  you,  Monsieur.  Come,  Mademoi- 
selle. (L^onor  dances  the  minuet.  M.  Dupas  follows  her  in  it, 
playing  with  his  pochette.1  He  stops  from  time  to  time,  to  say  to 
her  —  )  Raise  your  head  higher  ;  the  shoulders  back.  Move 

1  A  pochette  is  a  small  violin  which  can  be  carried  in  the  pocket,  and  is  used 
by  dancing  masters  who  visit  the  homes  of  the  wealthy  to  give  private  lessons. 

SCH.  IX  COM.  —  11 


162  AENAUD    BERQUIN 

your  arms  gently.  Keep  the  step.  A  genteel  air  —  watch 
me. 

M.  Verteuil  (when  the  minuet  is  finished).  Very  well,  Le*onor, 
very  well.  (To  M.  Dupas.)  Monsieur,  your  lesson  is  finished 
for  to-day.  (M.  Dupas  makes  a  low  bow  to  the  company  and 
retires.^) 

Leonor  (speaking  in  a  low  tone  to  Mme.  Beaumont).  Well, 
Auntie,  do  you  see  what  great  compliments  I  have  received  ? 

Mme.  Beaumont.  What,  M.  Verteuil,  aren't  you  charmed, 
enchanted,  carried  away  ?  Surely  you  have  not  paid  attention, 
or  else  you  are  so  fatigued  by  your  journey  — 

M.  Verteuil.  Excuse  me,  Madame,  I  have  already  spoken 
of  my  satisfaction  to  Le*onor.  But  would  you  have  me  go  into 
ecstasies  over  a  little  dance  ?  I  am  reserving  my  enthusiasm 
for  accomplishments  more  worthy  to  call  it  forth. 

(Didier  enters.} 

Didier  (rushing  into  the  parlor,  runs  to  M.  Verteuil,  jumps  up 
to  his  neck,  and  clasps  him  affectionately}.  O  my  dear  M. 
Verteuil,  my  guardian,  my  father,  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  ! 

Mme.  Beaumont.  What  do  you  mean  by  this  sauciness  ?  Is 
it  necessary  to  suffocate  your  friends  ? 

M.  Verteuil.  Never  mind,  Madame  ;  excess  of  joy  flatters 
me  more  than  cold  and  formal  courtesies.  Come,  my  dear 
Didier,  let  me  clasp  you  to  my  heart.  What  sweet  remem- 
brances you  bring  to  me.  Yes,  here  are  "the  noble  features  and 
the  pleasing  form  that  characterized  your  father. 

Mme.  Beaumont  (to  Didier).  Why  have  you  not  put  on 
your  new  coat  and  your  velvet  vest?  People  don't  visit  in 
round  jackets. 

Didier.  But,  Auntie,  I  should  have  lost  at  least  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  in  dressing,  and  I  should  not  have  the  patience  to 
wait. 

M.  Verteuil.  I  should  have  been  very  sorry,  I'm  sure,  to 
wait  a  quarter  of  an  hour  longer  to  see  this  fine  boy. 


FASHIONABLE    EDUCATION  163 

Mme.  Beaumont  (to  Didier).  Well,  Monsieur,  haven't  you 
anything  to  say  to  us — to  your  sister  and  me?  You  haven't 
even  said  "Good  morning." 

Didier.  Please  excuse  me,  my  dear  Auntie,  I  was  so  de- 
lighted to  greet  my  guardian.  (To  Leonor,  whose  hand  he 
takes.*)  You  are  not  offended  with  me  on  that  account,  are 
you,  Le*onor? 

Leonor  {dryly).     No,  Monsieur. 

M.  VerteuiL  Excuse  him,  Madame,  for  my  sake.  I  should 
be  sorry  to  be  the  cause  of  any  reproach  for  him. 

Mme.  Beaumont  (aside).  I  shall  not  be  able  to  contain  my- 
self much  longer.  {To  M.  VerteuiL')  Will  you  excuse  me, 
Monsieur  ?  I  have  some  orders  to  give  about  the  house. 

M.  VerteuiL     Don't  discommode  yourself,  I  beg. 

Mme.  Beaumont  (in  a  low  tone  to  Leonor).  Can  you  endure 
to  hear  this  insufferable  talk?  {Aloud.)  Follow  me,  Le'onor; 
I  need  you. 

Leonor.  No,  Auntie,  I'll  remain  with  M.  Verteuil,  if  he'll 
kindly  permit  me. 

M.  Verteuil.  Very  gladly,  my  child.  (Mme.  Beaumont  retires 
in  vexation.*) 

M.  Verteuil.  Well,  my  dear  Didier,  are  they  satisfied  with 
you  at  the  Pension? 

Didier.  That  is  for  my  teacher  to  say.  However,  I  don't 
believe  there  is  any  dissatisfaction. 

M.  Verteuil.     What  are  you  studying,  now  ? 

Didier.  Greek  and  Latin,  to  start  with ;  then  geography, 
history,  and  mathematics. 

Leonor  (aside).  A  number  of  things  of  which  I  scarcely 
know  the  names ! 

M.  Verteuil.     And  are  you  making  any  progress  ? 

Didier.  O,  the  more  I  learn,  the  more  I  see  that  I  have  yet 
to  learn.  However,  I  am  not  behind  my  schoolmates. 

M.  Verteuil.     How  about  drawing,  dancing,  and  music  ? 

Didier.  A  little  of  these,  also.  I  apply  myself  more  to 
music  and  drawing  in  summer,  because  our  teacher  says  we 


164  ARNAUD    BERQUIN 

should  not  exercise  much  then.  To  make  up,  in  the  winter  time 
I  practice  dancing  more,  because  the  exercise  is  better  for  me 
then. 

M.  Verteuil.     That  seems  to  me  to  be  wise. 

Didier.  Besides,  I  cannot  give  much  time  to  them.  I  turn 
to  them  very  little  except  in  my  hours  of  recreation,  or  after  I 
have  finished  my  work.  The  essential  thing,  according  to  our 
teacher,  is  to  cultivate  the  heart  and  to  store  the  mind  with 
knowledge,  to  live  honorably  in  the  world,  to  make  myself  use- 
ful to  my  country  and  to  my  fellows,  and  to  be  happy  myself 
by  this  means. 

M.  Verteuil  (taking  him  in  his  arms).  Embrace  me,  my 
dear  Didier. 

Leonor  (aside).  If  that's  the  essential  thing,  Auntie  has 
neglected  it  very  much. 

Didier.  O,  my  dear  M.  Verteuil,  perhaps  I  am  not  really 
so  good  as  you  imagine. 

M.  Verteuil.     How  so,  my  friend  ? 

Didier.  I  am  a  little  giddy,  a  little  careless.  For  example, 
I  mix  up  my  hours,  sometimes,  and  I  do  at  one  time  what  I 
ought  to  do  at  another  time.  I  find  it  hard  to  break  some  bad 
habits,  and  I  fall  back  shortly  into  faults  which  I  have  repented 
oftentimes. 

M.  Verteuil.     And  you  fall  back  into  them  again  ? 

Didier.  No,  indeed,  if  I  think  of  it ;  but  I  almost  always 
forget  my  good  resolutions. 

M.  Verteuil.  I  am  not  at  all  anxious,  my  friend,  since  you 
notice  your  own  faults.  To  know  one's  faults  is  the  first  step 
to  improvement.  What  do  you  think,  Le*onor  ? 

Leonor.  I  think  I  am  not  giddy  nor  careless,  and  I  have 
not  the  faults  of  my  brother. 

M.  Verteuil.     But  others,  perhaps  ? 

Leonor.     Auntie  has  never  told  me  of  them. 

M.  Verteuil.  She  ought  to  be  the  first  to  perceive  them. 
But  affection  sometimes  blinds  us  to  the  defects  of  our  friends. 
I  do  not  say  this  to  make  you  feel  bad. 


FASHIONABLE   EDUCATION  165 

Le'onor  (aside).  What  a  detestable  man  !  He  flatters  my 
brother,  and  he  has  nothing  but  disagreeable  things  to  say 
to  me. 

M.  Verteuil.  Stay  here,  children  ;  I  am  going  to  see  if  my 
servant  has  carried  away  the  things  in  my  valise.  I  have 
something  for  you,  and  I  shall  return  soon.  {He  walks  away.) 

Didier.     Yes,  we'll  wait  for  you.     Don't  remain  away  long. 

Leonor.  He  can  look  after  his  presents.  I  believe  he  has 
brought  us  something  nice. 

Didier.  What  do  you  say,  Le'onor?  All  that  you  have 
in  your  room,  and  all  that  you  wear,  comes  from  our  dear  bene- 
factor, does  it  not  ?  Ah,  if  he  gives  me  only  a  trifle,  1  shall 
always  remember  his  goodness. 

Le'onor.  No,  I  am  so  vexed  with  him,  with  myself,  with 
Auntie,  —  I  believe  I  am  at  war  with  the  whole  world. 

Didier.  What,  with  me  too?  What  is  the  matter  with 
you,  poor  Sister  ?  {He  takes  her  hand.) 

Leonor.     If  you  had  been  treated  so  shabbily  ! 

Didier.  You  treated  shabbily  ?  And  by  whom  ?  Auntie 
won't  let  you  go  out  into  the  air  for  fear  you'll  take  cold,  and 
I  believe  she  would  gladly  put  her  hands  under  your  feet  to 
keep  you  from  touching  the  ground. 

Leonor.     Yes,  but  M.  Verteuil  ;  he  is  impolite. 

Didier.  What  are  you  saying,  Sister  ?  Just  the  opposite. 
He  is  so  indulgent,  so  good  ! 

Leonor.  I  have  done  nothing  to  suit  him.  My  singing,  my 
drawing,  my  dancing,  —  it  is  all  nothing  to  him.  He  depre- 
ciates everything  I  know,  and  talks  to  me  of  things  that  I 
ought  to  know. 

Didier.     Well,  Sister,  I  believe  he  is  right. 

Leonor.  He  is  right  ?  And  Auntie  is  wrong,  is  she  not  ? 
What  does  he  mean  by  essential  things  ? 

Didier.     I  can  tell  you,  without  being  very  wise  myself. 

Leonor.     Yes,  you  tell  me. 

Didier.     Tell  me,  Le'onor,  do  you  read  sometimes  ? 

Leonor.     Of  course,  when  I  have  time. 


166  AttNAUb 

Didier.     And  what  do  you  read  then  ? 

Leonor.  Comedies,  to  go  to  the  theater  ;  or  a  large  collec- 
tion of  songs,  to  learn  them  by  heart. 

Didier.  Good  reading  for  your  age,  I'm  sure  !  Don't  you 
think  there  are  more  instructive  books  ? 

LSonor.  If  there  were,  where  should  I  find  a  moment  to 
read  them  ?  My  morning  toilet  and  my  breakfast  take  my 
time  till  ten  o'clock.  Then  comes  my  dancing  master,  and 
remains  till  eleven.  After  him  comes  my  drawing  teacher. 
We  then  have  dinner.  At  four  o'clock  is  my  music  lesson. 
Afterward,  I  dress  myself  for  the  evening.  Perhaps  we  go 
out  calling  or  receive  visitors,  and  then  the  day  is  over. 

Didier.     Is  it  the  same  every  day  ? 

LSonor.     It  is  a  fact. 

Didier.  Well,  my  teacher  has  girls  almost  as  large  as  you  ; 
but  they  spend  their  time  differently. 

L6onor.     In  what  way,  Brother  ? 

Didier.  To  begin  with,  at  six  o'clock  in  the  summer,  and 
at  seven  in  the  winter,  they  are  dressed  for  the  whole  day. 

Ltonor.  They  don't  sleep  at  all,  then,  or  else  they  are  stupid 
in  the  daytime. 

Didier.  They  are  livelier  than  you  are.  They  go  to  bed  at 
nine  o'clock. 

LSonor.     In  bed  at  nine  o'clock  ? 

Didier.  Certainly  they  are,  so  as  to  rise  early  in  the  morn- 
ing. While  you  are  still  asleep  they  have  already  had  recita- 
tions in  geography,  history,  and  mathematics.  From  ten  o'clock 
to  dinner  time  they  have  needlework,  or  else  busy  themselves 
with  their  mothers  at  housekeeping. 

Ltonor  (with  an  air  of  vexation).  Is  it  the  intention  to  make 
housekeepers  or  seamstresses  of  them  ? 

Didier.  I  hope  that  so  good  an  education  will  bring  to  them 
a  better  fortune.  But  ought  they  not  to  know  how  to  take 
charge  of  domestics,  to  order  dinner,  to  manage  a  house- 
hold? 

L6onor.     And  in  the  afternoon  —  are  they  still  busy  ? 


FASHIONABLE  EDUCATION  167 

Didier.  Why  shouldn't  they  be  ?  They  have  their  writing 
and  their  music.  In  the  evening  they  gather  about  a  table, 
and  one  reads  aloud,  The  Conversations  of  fimile. 1  or  The 
Theater  of  Education,  while  the  others  make  up  the  household 
linen  or  their  own  clothing. 

Leonor.     Then  they  don't  take  any  recreation  ? 

Didier.  What's  that  ?  They  amuse  themselves  better 
than  queens.  All  their  work  is  intermingled  with  playfulness 
and  agreeable  entertainments.  They  pay  calls  and  receive 
them,  but  always  with  their  work  bag  in  hand.  I  have  never 
seen,  them  idle  a  minute. 

Ltonor.  O,  that  is  evidently  what  M.  Verteuil  meant. 
Auntie  says,  however,  that  it  is  a  commonplace  education, 
which  is  suitable  only  for  children  of  shopkeepers. 

Didier.  Yes,  such  as  we  are.  But  even  if  they  should 
possess  an  immense  fortune,  this  training  would  not  be  useless 
to  them.  It  is  really  important  for  them  to  know  housework, 
in  order  to  have  their  servants  perform  it.  If  they  didn't 
know  anything  about  it,  everybody  would  cheat  them;  and  the 
richer  they  were,  the  greater  would  be  their  misfortune. 

Leonor.  You  frighten  me,  Brother.  I  know  absolutely 
nothing  about  such  things.  I  scarcely  know  how  to  handle  a 
needle.  Nevertheless,  I  find  that  we  have  nothing  except  what 
we  receive  from  M.  Verteuil. 

Didier.  So  much  the  worse,  Leonor  dear;  for  if  he  should 
conclude  to  let  us  alone,  or  if  we  should  have  the  misfortune 
to  lose  him  —  but  perhaps  Auntie  is  rich ! 

Ltonor.  O,  no,  she  is  not.  She  has  just  told  me  so.  She 
has  scarcely  enough  for  herself  to  live  on.  What  should  we 
do  all  by  ourselves  ? 

Didier.  I  should  be  somewhat  perplexed  at  first,  but  I 
should  put  my  trust  in  God,  and  I  believe  He  would  not 
abandon  me.  There  are  always  generous  people  whose  friend- 

1  The  timile  (a-meel')  of  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau  (zhahn  zhahc  roo-so')  is 
a  work  of  great  celebrity,  which,  like  the  books  of  Rabelais,  has  greatly  influ- 
enced the  educational  world. 


AltNAtfl) 

ship  we  can  win  by  our  ability  to  do  something,  and  who 
would  be  pleased  to  employ  us.  For  example,  in  a  few  years, 
when  I  shall  be  a  little  more  advanced  in  my  studies,  I  shall 
be  able  to  teach  what  I  shall  then  know  to  children  less  ad- 
vanced. I  learn  more  every  day;  and  with  courage,  good 
conduct,  industrious  habits,  and  application,  a  person  can 
open,  sooner  or  later,  a  way  that  leads  to  fortune. 

L£onor.  For  my  part,  what  good  would  my  singing  and 
music  practice  and  drawing  and  dancing  do  to  me  ?  I  should 
die  of  misery  with  these  unsubstantial  accomplishments. 

Didier.  You  see  why  our  guardian  asked  if  we  had  been 
taught  the  things  more  useful  than  those  which  serve  only  for 
pleasure  and  entertainment. 

L£onor.  Yes,  and  sometimes  for  chagrin;  for  when  I  dance, 
or  when  I  play  in  company,  if  they  don't  praise  me  as  much  as 
I  think  I  deserve,  I  am  out  of  humor.  I  confess  I  am  often 
much  annoyed  in  this  way. 

Didier.     And  how  do  you  amuse  yourself,  then  ? 

Leonor.  With  fashions,  jewelry,  comedies,  promenades,  and 
town  talk.  We  repeat  in  one  house  what  we  have  heard  in 
another  ;  but  all  that  is  soon  exhausted. 

Didier.  I  have  no  doubt.  These  are  very  poor  subjects 
when  one  thinks  of  all  the  admirable  things  that  nature  offers 
to  our  eyes,  and  of  all  that  passes  around  about  us  in  the  great 
society  of  the  world.  There  are  things  worthy  of  our  atten- 
tion and  which  can  teach  us  to  reflect  upon  ourselves. 

Leonor.  You  have  about  convinced  me.  Although  you  are 
two  years  younger  than  I  am,  you  are  already  better  trained 
than  I.  O,  how  Auntie  has  neglected  the  useful  things  in  my 
education  ! 

(Madame  Beaumont  enters.') 

Mme.  Beaumont  (who  has  heard  the  last  words  of  Leonor). 
And  what  are  the  useful  things  that  I  have  neglected  in  your 
education,  you  ungrateful  child  ?  I  see,  it  is  this  nonsense  of 
Didier  — 


FASHlOHABLti  EbUCATlOtf  169 


bidier  (very  respectfully').  Auntie  dear,  —  I  am  going  to 
see  M.  Verteuil  in  his  room.  (He  retires.} 

Mme.  Beaumont.  The  little  rascal  !  Let  him  think  he  can 
set  his  foot  inside  my  house  again,  after  his  guardian  is  once 
gone  !  But  what  has  he  told  you  to  make  you  believe  that  your 
education  has  been  neglected  ? 

Ltonor.  It  is  altogether  true,  Auntie.  Have  you  had  me 
taught  the  necessary  things  that  a  well-bred  person  ought  to 
know  ! 

Mme.  Beaumont.  My  dear  Le'onor,  what  do  you  lack  of 
accomplishments  ?  You,  who  are  the  flower  of  all  our  young 
ladies  ? 

L£onor.  O,  I  understand  the  things  which  are  fit  only  to 
make  one  proud.  But  those  which  cultivate  the  mind,  —  geog- 
raphy, history,  mathematics,  —  have  I  even  an  idea  of  them  ? 

Mme.  Beaumont.  All  that  is  only  pedantry,  my  child.  I 
should  be  in  despair  to  have  made  you  tear  your  head  to  pieces 
with  such  trifles.  They  are  good  only  for  Latin  scholars. 
Have  you  ever  heard  of  anything  of  the  sort  in  the  circle  of 
ladies  into  which  I  have  introduced  you  ? 

LSonor.  No,  I  agree  with  you  there  ;  but  why,  at  least, 
should  I  not  learn  the  duties  with  which  a  woman  ought  to 
busy  herself?  Do  I  know  how  to  sew?  Would  I  be  in  a 
condition  to  take  care  of  a  household? 

Mme.  Beaumont.  As  for  that,  I  haven't  desired  to  make  you 
a  milliner  or  a  seamstress. 

LSonor.  But  if  we  should  happen  to  lose  M.  Verteuil,  if  I 
should  fall  into  misfortune,  what  resource  would  I  have  for 
making  a  living  ? 

Mme.  Beaumont.  O,  if  it  comes  to  that,  I  can  quiet  your 
anxiety  with  a  single  word.  You'll  never  be  in  want  of 
money.  You  will  swim  in  abundance.  I  have  teased  .M. 
Verteuil  so  much  to  make  you  his  heir,  that  he  is  going  to 
make  his  will  to-day,  in  your  favor.  But  here  he  comes,  him- 
self. I  will  leave  you  with  him.  He  is  going  to  tell  you 
about  his  disposition  of  his  estate. 


170  ARNAUD  BERQUIN 

SCENE,  the  same. 
M.  Verteuil,  Le"onor,  Didier. 

Didier.    Here,  here,  Sister.     Look  !     (He  shows  her  a  watch.) 

LSonor.     What,  a  gold  watch  ! 

Didier.  Yes,  as  you  see.  O,  M.  Verteuil,  I  am  delighted. 
Will  you  let  me  go  and  show  it  to  Auntie  ?  I'll  run  and  return 
like  the  wind. 

M.  Verteuil.  I  am  very  willing.  Tell  her  that  I  have  not 
given  it  to  you  childishly,  to  flatter  your  vanity,  but  to  enable 
you  to  tell  the  time  for  your  recitations  and  to  prevent  you 
from  making  mistakes  about  them. 

Didier.     O,  that  won't  happen  any  more,  now. 

M.  Verteuil.  Ask  her  to  excuse  you  for  the  day,  and  tell 
her  I'll  be  here  this  afternoon. 

Didier.  Very  well,  very  well.  (He  runs  out.  LSonor  ap- 
pears sad  and  thoughtful.') 

M.  Verteuil.  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Le*onor  dear? 
Why  do  you  seem  so  cast  down  ? 

L€onor.     It  is  nothing,  sir,  nothing  at  all. 

M.  Verteuil.     Are  you  sorry  that  your  brother  has  a  watch  ? 

L€onor.  It  will  last  him  a  long  time,  I  think.  He  will  do 
well  to  take  care  of  it ! 

M.  Verteuil.  I  am  going  to  show  him  how,  and  it  is  not 
difficult.  You  know  he  has  had  great  need  of  it. 

LSonor  (in  an  ironical  tone).  For  my  part,  I  don't  need 
one,  of  course. 

M.  Verteuil.  So  I  have  thought.  There  is  a  clock  in  the 
house. 

LSonor.  Nevertheless,  people  in  my  station  have  watches 
also. 

M.  Verteuil.  So  much  the  better;  you  can  ask  the  time  of 
them. 

LSonor.  And  when  others  ask  it  of  me,  I  can  tell  them  I 
don't  know. 


FASHIONABLE  EDUCATION  171 

M.  Verteuil.  Le"onor,  Le*onor,  you  are  a  little  envious.  But 
to  show  you  that  I  have  not  forgotten  you  —  (He  gives  her 
a  little  50a;.) 

L£onor  (blushing").     O,  M.  Verteuil! 

M.  Verteuil.  Well,  you  don't  know  how  to  open  it.  (He  opens 
it,  and  takes  out  some  diamond  earrings.}  Are  you  satisfied  now  ? 

L£onor.     O,  if  you  were  as  satisfied  with  me  ! 

M.  Verteuil.  I  can't  conceal  the  fact  that  I  am  not,  altogether. 
We  are  alone.  I  must  speak  freely.  Your  dear  auntie  has 
spared  nothing  to  give  you  pleasing  accomplishments.  I 
recognize  her  care,  her  taste,  and  her  tenderness.  I  only  wish 
that  she  would  take  care  to  give  you,  at  the  same  time,  a  more 
substantial  training. 

Leonor.  My  brother  has  made  me  feel  this  already.  But 
who  is  to  teach  me  the  things  of  which  I  am  ignorant  ? 

M.  Verteuil.  I  know  a  worthy  person  who  receives  young 
ladies  in  a  'Pension,  to  train  them  in  all  things  appropriate  to 
your  age  and  to  your  sex. 

LSonor.  Auntie  has  told  me,  however,  that  you  would  place 
me  above  the  need  for  these  things. 

M.  Verteuil.  I  understand.  O,  well,  I  leave  you  free  to 
follow  the  sort  of  life  which  she  has  had  you  live,  if  it  is  in 
accordance  with  your  taste.  Rest  easy  as  regards  my  care  for 
you.  After  my  death  you  shall  possess  all  my  property. 

L£onor.     All  your  property,  M.  Verteuil  ? 

M.  Verteuil.  Yes,  Le*onor  ;  alas,  I  am  afraid  it  will  not  be 
sufficient  to  prevent  your  living  in  misery. 

Leonor.     What  do  you  mean  ? 

M.  Verteuil.  Are  you  prepared  to  do  to  yourself  the  slightest 
service  —  to  use  your  hands,  and  I'll  not  say  to  make  the  least 
part  of  your  outer  apparel,  but  your  underclothing  ? 

Leonor.     I  have  never  learned. 

M.  Verteuil.  Then  you  will  find  it  necessary  to  have  about 
you  at  all  times  a  crowd  of  people  to  make  up  for  your  want  of 
knowledge  and  for  your  idleness.  Are  you  rich  enough  to 
support  such  an  army  ? 


172  AttNAtID  BERQVltf 

Leonor.    You  have  already  told  me  that  I  am  not,  M.  Verteuil. 

M.  Verteuil.  Besides,  when  you  come  to  mature  age,  what 
reasonable  man  would  choose  you  for  your  idle  accomplish- 
ments, which  do  not  contribute  to  his  happiness  ?  You  would 
be  sought  for  only  for  the  fortune  you  might  bring  as  a  dowry. 
So  I  see  more  and  more  the  necessity  for  my  securing  to  you 
the  property  I  have. 

Leonor.     But  my  brother  ? 

M.  Verteuil.  He  ought  to  be  well  contented  with  what  I 
shall  do  for  him  during  my  life,  and  with  what  you  yourself 
would  be  very  willing  to  do  for  him  after  my  death.  I  want 
him  to  be  trained  in  all  honorable  means  of  acquiring  property. 
I  have  given  him  an  example  of  this,  and  he  has  only  to  follow 
it.  I  leave  you  to  think  over  my  plans.  I  want  to  tell  your 
brother  of  them  as  soon  as  he  returns.  (He  retires.') 

LSonor.  O,  how  delightful  !  Heiress  to  all  of  the  property 
of  M.  Verteuil  !  This  is  what  Auntie  has  been  so  anxious  to 
bring  about.  I  should  like  to  know  what  my  brother  will 
have  to  say  about  this.  He  will  be  jealous.  But,  of  course, 
I'll  not  be  forgetful  of  him,  if  there  is  anything  left  after  all 
my  needs  are  provided  for.  I  hear  M.  Verteuil  coming  back 
with  him.  I'll  hide  in  the  closet,  and  listen  to  him.  (She 
goes  out,  without  being  perceived  by  either  M.  Verteuil  or  Tier 
brother.) 

(M.  Verteuil  and  Didier  enter.) 

M.  Verteuil.  Your  teacher  is  well  pleased  that  I  have  given 
you  the  present  ? 

Didier.  Yes,  my  dear  teacher — why,  he's  delighted;  but, 
for  my  part,  it  troubles  me,  just  now. 

M.  Verteuil.     How  so,  my  friend  ? 

Didier.  Poor  Leonor,  perhaps  she  is  grieved  that  I  have  a 
watch  and  she  has  none.  I  don't  want  to  appear  unapprecia- 
tive  of  your  kindness,  but  if  I  dared  to  ask  of  you  — 

M.  Verteuil.  Generous  boy,  be  unconcerned.  She  has  re- 
ceived some  earrings,  which  are  worth  twice  as"  much  as  your 
watch. 


FASHIONABLE  EDUCATION  173 

Didier.     O,  my  dear  M.  Verteuil,  how  I  do  thank  you  ! 

M.  Verteuil.  And  I  will  not  limit  to  these  trifles  the  expres- 
sions of  my  friendship. 

Didier.     Ah,  so  much  better  —  so  much  better. 

M.  Verteuil.  I  see  with  regret  that  her  education  is  such  as 
to  cause  her  only  mortification. 

Didier.  O,  Auntie  dear  imagines  that  a  little  drawing, 
dancing,  and  music  are  all  in  the  world  that  is  necessary  to 
happiness. 

M.  Verteuil.  To  these  trifling  accomplishments  she  sacrifices 
the  care  for  the  cultivation  of  her  mind  and  the  enlisting  of  her 
heart  to  those  virtues  which  alone  are  able  to  win  for  her  real 
consideration.  Since  the  mind  of  Le*onor  has  been  neglected, 
she  contents  herself  to-day  with  flattery  by  which  the  vanity  is 
indulged.  But  when,  in  the  course  of  years,  she  will  see  how 
useless  is  her  training,  and  what  precious  time  she  has  lost,  she 
will  blush  for  herself,  and  she  will  blame  the  unfaithful  flatter- 
ers who  will  repay  her  reproaches  with  sneers  and  with  anger. 

Didier.     O,  Monsieur,  you  make  me  tremble  for  her. 

M.  Verteuil.  And,  further,  whoever  would  be  willing  to 
assume  the  charge  of  a  woman  filled  with  pride  and  destitute 
of  knowledge,  who,  far  from  being  able  to  establish  order  and 
economy  in  a  home,  would  destroy  the  most  solid  fortune  by 
the  taste  for  luxury  joined  to  complete  incapacity;  equally 
unworthy  the  esteem  of  her  husband,  the  attachment  of  friends, 
and  the  respect  of  her  children  ?  She  must  live  in  the  world  a 
stranger  to  all  around  her.  What  would  become  of  her  then, 
without  any  aid? 

Didier.     O,  I  pray  you,  don't  withdraw  your  kindness. 

M.  Verteuil.  No;  on  the  contrary,  I  wish  to  assure  her 
destiny  from  this  day. 

Didier.  Yes,  my  dear  M.  Verteuil,  secure  to  her  a  more 
careful  education.  She  is  not  wanting  in  intelligence,  and  I 
can  vouch  for  the  goodness  of  her  heart. 

M.  Verteuil.  I  should  desire  it.  But  in  her  indulgence, 
would  she  be  able  to  adopt  stricter  principles  ?  No,  I  see  that 


174  ARNAUD  BERQUIN 

it  is  necessary  rather  for  me  to  charge  myself  with  providing 
for  her  in  the  time  when  I  shall  be  no  more. 

Didier.  Don't  speak  any  more  of  that  misfortune,  I  beg  of 
you.  Tears  come  to  my  eyes  at  the  thought.  No ;  you  will 
live  a  long  time  for  our  enjoyment.  Heaven  would  not  rob  us 
of  a  second  father  so  soon. 

M.  Verteuil.  I  am  sensible  of  your  affection,  but  foreseeing 
death  does  not  hasten  the  fatal  time.  Your  sister's  conduct 
causes  me  the  keenest  anxiety.  In  fact,  I  have  made  up  my 
mind  to  leave  to  her  all  that  I  possess,  so  that  she  shall  have 
means  to  preserve  her  from  poverty. 

Didier  (taking  him  by  the  hand).  O,  I  thank  you  a  thou- 
sand and  a  thousand  times.  How  delighted  I  am !  Shall  I  go 
and  tell  her  the  joyful  news  ?  But  no ;  it  would  be  better  that 
she  should  not  know  of  it.  Let  her  learn,  first,  some  useful 
things,  as  though  she  should  have  to  earn  her  living.  She  will 
thus  learn  to  manage  her  fortune  more  wisely.  O,  my  dear 
Sister,  I  can  hope  to  see  you  happy  now. 

M.  Verteuil.  You  are  a  worthy  child.  Your  good  sense  does 
not  please  me  less  than  your  generosity.  Come,  my  dear 
Didier,  let  me  embrace  you.  I  leave  you  nothing,  and  give  all 
to  your  sister.  How  shall  I  be  able  to  do  such  injustice  ?  The 
thought  is  far  from  my  mind.  •  I  wished  only  to  put  you  to  the 
test.  It  is  you  who  shall  be  the  heir  to  all  my  property,  and  I 
shall  make  haste  to  make  my  will  in  your  favor. 

Didier.  No,  noj  M.  Verteuil;  keep  your  first  intention. 
Leave  all  to  my  sister.  I  will  accordingly  become  more  stu- 
dious and  more  attentive.  I  will  acquire  useful  training.  I 
will  be  a  faithful  man.  With  that  I  am  not  worried  about  my 
advancement. 

M.  Verteuil.  Don't  be  anxious  as  to  Le"onor.  I  will  leave 
her  a  little  legacy,  so  that  she  will  never  be  in  want  of  neces- 
saries. 

Didier.  O,  well,  let  us  make  an  exchange  —  the  little  legacy 
for  me,  as  a  testimonial  of  your  friendship,  and  the  remainder 
for  my  sister. 


FASHIONABLE  EDUCATION  175 

(L6onor  rushes  forth  from  the  closet.} 

LSonor.     O,  my  Brother,  my  dear  Didier,  have  I  deserved — 

Didier.  All,  my  dear  Le*onor,  if  you  respond  to  my  wishes 
and  to  those  of  our  worthy  benefactor. 

Leonor.  O,  I  will,  I  will.  I  see  how  much  the  difference  in 
our  education  has  raised  your  soul  above  mine,  though  I  am 
the  older.  Do  with  me,  M.  Verteuil,  according  to  your  friend- 
ship. I  wish  also  to  school  myself  and  to  take  my  brother  for 
a  model. 

M.  Verteuil.  You  will  secure  your  happiness  if  you  persist 
in  that  wise  resolution.  But  whence  arises  this  change  in 
your  ideas  ? 

Leonor.  O,  I  have  heard  the  voice  of  Didier.  His  noble 
disinterestedness,  his  generous  sacrifice  —  I  have  heard  all.  I 
have  no  longer  a  feeling  of  jealousy  toward  him.  He  will 
always  be  my  guide  and  my  best  friend. 

Didier.  Yes,  Sister,  I  wish  to  be.  It  will  be  my  pride,  my 
happiness. 

M.  Verteuil.  With  what  tender  sentiments  you  move  me, 
both  of  you.  O,  my  dear  friends,  I  feel  no  longer  a  regret  at 
having  no  children.  Henceforth  you  will  take  the  vacant 
place,  for  I  feel  the  tenderest  affection  for  you. 

(LSonor  and  Didier  entwine   their  arms  about  him,  their  eyes 
bedewed  with  tears.} 

Leonor.  Let  us  not  lose  a  moment,  my  dear  benefactor. 
Where  is  the  person  of  whom  you  have  spoken  to  me  in  refer- 
ence to  a  better  education  ? 

M.  Verteuil.  I  will  soon  make  you  acquainted  with  her.  I 
expect  to  remain  several  days  longer  with  you,  to  prepare  the 
mind  of  your  aunt  by  degrees  to  concur. in  my  plans.  We 
must  be  very  careful  not  to  offend  her.  She  deserves  always 
your  respect  and  recognition.  She  is  mistaken,  Le*onor,  as  to 
the  real  point  of  your  welfare,  but  her  most  eager  desire  is, 
none  the  less,  to  make  you  happy. 


176  ARNAUD  BERQUIN 

L£onor.  O,  I  realize  that ;  but  I  renounce  from  this  day  all 
the  vanities  with  which  she  has  busied  me.  No  more  music, 
dancing,  or  drawing. 

M.  Verteuil.  No,  my  dear  friend.  Cultivate  always  the 
pleasing  accomplishments,  but  remember  only  that  they  do  not 
constitute  all  the  merits  of  a  woman.  They  enable  her  to  bear 
a  part  agreeably  in  society,  to  rest  from  household  cares,  and 
to  render  it  pleasanter  at  home  ;  to  bind  stronger  the  attach- 
ments of  her  husband,  and  to  guide  her  in  a  choice  of  things 
to  provide  for  her  children,  and  to  enhance  their  progress. 
They  are  to  be  feared  only  when  they  inspire  in  her  an  absurd 
vanity,  and  give  her  a  taste  for  dissipations  and  a  disgust  for  the 
essential  duties  of  her  station.  They  are  flowers,  to  the  culti- 
vation of  which  we  must  not  give  up  all  our  farm,  but  which 
we  may  cultivate  for  pleasure  along  the  side  of  the  field  which 
produces  useful  harvests. 


IV 

COLMAN 
EDCEWORTH 


SCH.    IS    COM.  —  12 


COLMAN   THE   YOUNGER 

THE  world  owes  much  to  its  humorists  —  those  genial  fellows  wlio  reveal 
to  us  our  shortcomings  without  offense  by  portraying  them  in  fictitious 
characters,  and  whose  clever  fancies  provoke  to  mirth  in  hours  of  relaxation 
from  care  and  labor. 

A  prince  of  good  fellows  was  George  Colman ;  a  scholar,  a  wag,  a  bril- 
liant conversationalist  (according  to  Byron),  a  man  of  society,  a  writer  of 
funny  doggerels  and  of  dramas  that  will  long  endure.  Yet  it  was  not  alto- 
gether a  sunshiny  life  that  he  led.  Shadows  crossed  his  pathway,  and  he 
had,  perhaps,  his  full  share  of  life's  sorrows  and  disappointments ;  but 
through  them  all  his  happy  humor  never  deserted  him,  and  in  his  writings 
we  find  no  trace  of  bitterness  or  of  morbid  discontent. 

The  younger  George  Colman  was  born  in  1762.  His  father  (whose  name 
was  the  same,  and  who  is  known  as  Colman  the  Elder)  was  a  dramatist  and 
a  translator  of  the  classics.  When  the  son  was  yet  a  small  child,  the  father 
became  a  shareholder  in  the  famous  Covent  Garden  Theater,  in  London, 
and  acting  manager  of  the  same.  Some  years  later,  he  purchased  the  Little 
Theater  at  the  Haymarket.  His  life  was  a  busy  one.  In  his  last  years  he 
published  excellent  English  renderings  of  Horace's  Epistle  to  the  Pisos,  and 
the  Mercator  of  Plautus.  He  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  his  mind,  once  so 
active  and  powerful,  and  sank  into  hopeless  idiocy  before  his  death. 

Young  Colman  succeeded  to  his  father's  place  as  theatrical  manager,  at 
a  salary  of  $  3000  per  annum,  which  was  then  a  generous  income.  He  was 
well  qualified  for  the  place,  having  been  from  infancy  familiar  with  leading 
•  actors  and  their  roles,  and  having  been  thoroughly  educated  in  the  best 
schools  of  the  kingdom.  He  was,  in  youth,  a  preparatory  student  at 
Westminster,  and  studied  diligently  at  Christ  Church  College,  Oxford,  and  at 
King's  College,  Aberdeen.  He  also  studied  law  at  The  Temple,  in  London. 

While  at  Aberdeen,  he  tried  his  hand  at  poetry,  and  wrote  The  Man  of 
the  People,  which  brought  him  little  fame.  At  the  age  of  twenty  he  pro- 
duced his  first  play,  The  Female  Dramatists,  based  on  Smollett's  Roderick 
Random.  This  was  a  most  humiliating  failure.  Not  discouraged,  however, 
he  tried  again,  and  scored  a  success  in  a  drama  entitled  Two  to  One. 

He  was  appointed  Examiner  of  Plays  by  the  Duke  of  Montrose  (then 
Lord  Chamberlain).  In  1805  he  achieved  fame  by  the  publication  of  the 

179 


180  COLMAN  THE  YOUNGER 

drama  John  Bull,  for  which  he  received  a  larger  compensation  than  had 
ever  been  paid  before  for  such  a  composition.  This  comedy  and  two  others, 
The  Poor  Gentleman  and  The  Heir  at  Law,  are  his  best. 

Colman's  career  was  beset  with  vicissitudes.  For  some  years  he  was 
embarrassed  by  debt.  But  the  evening  of  his  life  was  happy;  and,  indeed, 
through  all  his  career,  he  possessed  a  wealth  which  money  could  not  buy,  — 
a  cheerful  spirit,  a  refined  taste,  a  liberal  education.  His  doggerels,  which 
were  never  very  creditable,  have  been  long  forgotten ;  but  the  world  still 
laughs  over  his  humorous  dramas,  and  profits  by  his  portraitures  of  char- 
acter. Colman  the  Younger  died  in  1836. 

"  Of  all  the  plays  written  by  George  Colman  the  Younger,  there  is  not 
one  that  is  seen  with  greater  pleasure  than  The  Heir  at  Law,  or  that  affords 
more  amusement  to  an  audience.  The  characters  of  Dr.  Pangloss,  Lord 
and  Lady  Duberly,  Zekiel  Homespun,  and  Cicely  are  drawn  with  a  truth 
and  fidelity  to  nature  not  to  be  surpassed.  The  manly  feeling  of  the  honest 
countryman,  whose  plowman's  fist  is  ready  at  all  hazards  to  vindicate  the 
wrongs  of  his  sister,  but  who  in  the  next  moment  receives  to  his  heart  that 
repentant  friend  whose  head  was  turned  by  sudden  good  fortune,  makes 
Zekiel  Homespun  a  pattern  of  an  honest  farmer,  whom  all  admire  while 
they  despise  Dick  Dowlas,  the  lawyer's  clerk,  and  the  chandler's  son,  for  his 
attempt  to  ape  the  libertinism  of  nobility.  Then  the  unsophisticated  inno- 
cence of  Cicely,  whose  love  is  not  to  be  shaken,  but  whose  principles  of 
virtue  are  equally  strong,  and  proof  against  all  the  false  allurements  of 
wealth  and  fashion  unaided  by  the  true  pledge  of  love,  the  wedding  ring,  — 
carries  with  her  throughout  the  play  the  sympathy  as  well  as  admiration  of 
the  audience. 

"  The  ridiculous  attempt  of  the  uneducated  shopman  to  mend  his  '  cakel- 
ology,'  by  the  purchase  of  a  whole  library  of  books,  written  '  by  one  Tom,' 
is  a  source  of  great  amusement ;  while  his  Lady  wife,  too,  plays  a  most  essen- 
tial part  in  the  '  dramatis  person^.'  The  pedagogue  and  tutor,  the  LL.D. 
and  A.  double  S.,  whose  only  ambition  is  to  receive  his  pay  —  doubly,  trebly, 
—  for  allowing  all  parties  to  do  as  they  please,  so  that  he  be  allowed  to 
pocket  '  nine  hundred  pounds  a  year,'  although  not  to  be  met  in  real  life, 
is  a  most  humorous  acquaintance  upon  the  stage ;  and  his  apt  quotations 
prove  the  classical  knowledge  of  the  author.1  Dr.  Pangloss  is  the  pivot  on 
which  revolves  all  the  fun  of  the  play,  and  the  ludicrous  positions  in  which 
he  is  placed  cause  the  sides  of  the  audience  to  ache  with  laughter." 

—  FRENCH'S  Standard  Drama. 

1  Colman  possessed  that  desirable  degree  of  acquaintance  with  the  classics 
which  enabled  him  to  quote  them  happily,  and  to  appropriate  their  best  thought, 
without  overloading  his  mind  with  needless  and  paralyzing  detail. 


LICK  DOWLAS  AND  HIS  TUTOtt  181 

DICK  DOWLAS   AND  HIS  TUTOR 

(Scenes  from  The  Heir  at  Law) 
DRAMATIS  PERSONS 


LORD  DUBERLY,  alias  Daniel  Dow- 
las, formerly  a  small  merchant  in 
the  village  of  Gosport. 

DICK  DOWLAS,  his  son. 


DR.  PANGLOSS,  LL.D.  and  A.S.S., 

a  tutor. 

ZEKIEL  HOMESPUN,  a  countryman. 
Waiter  at  the  inn. 


LADY  DUBERLY,  alias  Mrs.  Dowlas. 
CICELY  HOMESPUN,  sister  of  Zekiel. 

ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.  —  An  apartment  in  Lord  Duberly' s  house. 
(Lord  and  Lady  Duberly  discovered  at  breakfast.} 

Lord  Duberly.  But  what  does  it  matter,  my  Lady,  whether 
I  drink  my  tea  out  of  a  cup  or  a  saucer  ? 

Lady  Duberly.  A  great  deal  in  the  polite  circles,  my  Lord. 
We  have  been  raised,  by  a  strange  freak  of  fortune,  from 
nothing,  as  a  body  may  say  ;  and  — 

Lord  Duberly.  Nothing  !  As  reputable  a  trade  as  any  in  all 
Gosport.  You  hold  a  merchant  as  cheap  as  if  he  trotted  about 
with  all  his  property  in  a  pack,  like  a  peddler. 

Lady  Duberly.  A  merchant,  indeed  !  Curious  merchandise 
you  dealt  in,  truly  ! 

Lord  Duberly.  A  large  assortment  of  articles  —  coal,  cloth, 
herrings,  linen,  candles,  eggs,  sugar,  treacle,  tea,  bacon,  and 
brick  dust,  with  many  more,  too  tedious  to  mention,  in  this 
here  advertisement. 

Lady  Duberly.  Well,  praise  the  bridge  that  carried  you 
over  ;  but  you  must  now  drop  the  tradesman,  and  learn  life. 
Consider,  by  the  strangest  accident  you  have  been  raised  to 
neither  more  nor  less  than  a  peer  of  the  realm. 


182  COLMAN  THE  YOUNGER 

Lord  Duberly.  Oh  !  'twas  the  strangest  accident,  my  Lady, 
that  ever  happened  on  the  face  of  the  universal  yearth. 

Lady  Duberly.  True,  'twas  indeed  a  windfall ;  and  you 
must  now  walk,  talk,  eat,  and  drink  as  becomes  your  station. 
'Tis  befit  a  nobleman  should  behave  as  sich,  and  know  summut 
of  breeding. 

Lord  Duberly.  Well,  but  I  ha'n't  been  a  nobleman  more  nor 
a  week  ;  and  my  throat  isn't  noble  enough  yet  to  be  proof 
against  scalding.  Hand  over  the  milk,  my  Lady. 

Lady  Duberly.  Hand  over  !  Ah,  what's  bred  in  the  bone 
will  never  come  out  of  the  flesh,  my  Lord. 

Lord  Duberly.  Pshaw  !  here's  a  fuss,  indeed !  When  I  was 
plain  Daniel  Dowlas  of  Gosport,  I  was  reckoned  as  cute  a  dab 
at  discourse  as  any  in  town.  Nobody  found  fault  with  me 
then. 

Lady  Duberly.  But  why  so  loud  ?  I  declare,  the  servants 
will  hear. 

Lord  Duberly.  Hear  !  And  what  will  they  hear  but  what 
they  know  ?  Our  story  a  secret !  Lord  help  you  !  Tell  'em 
Queen  Anne's  dead,  my  Lady.  Don't  everybody  know  old 
Duberly  was  supposed  to  die  without  any  hair  to  his  estate  — 
as  the  doctors  say,  of  an  implication  of  disorders  ;  and  that 
his  son,  Henry  Morland,  was  lost,  some  time  ago,  in  the 
salt  sea? 

Lady  Duberly.     Well,  there's  no  occasion  to  — 

Lord  Duberly.  Don't  everybody  know  that  lawyer  Ferret, 
of  Furnival's  Inn,  owed  the  legatees  a  grudge,  and  popped  a 
bit  of  an  advertisement  into  the  News :  —  "  Whereas,  The  heir 
at  law,  if  there  be  any  reviving  of  the  late  Baron  Duberly 
will  apply  "  — so  and  so —  "he'll  hear  summut  greatly  to  his 
advantage  ? ' ' 

Lady  Duberly.     But  why  bawl  it  to  the  — 

Lord  Duberly.  Didn't  he  hunt  me  out,  to  prove  my  title, 
and  lug  me  from  the  counter  to  clap  me  into  a  coach,  a  house 
here  in  Hanover  Square,  and  an  estate  in  the  country,  worth 
fifteen  thousand  per  annum  ?  Why,  bless  you,  my  Lady,  every 


DICK  DOWLAS  AND  HIS  TUTOR  183 

little  black  devil  with  a  soot  bag  cries  it  about  the  streets  as 
often  as  he  says  "sweep." 

Lady  Duberly.  "Tis  a  pity  but  my  Lord  had  left  you  some 
manners  with  his  money. 

Lord  Duberly.  He  !  What,  my  cousin  twenty  thousand 
times  removed?  He  must  have  left  them  by  word  of  mouth. 
Never  spoke  to  him  but  once  in  all  my  born  life  —  upon  an 
electioneering  matter.  That's  a  time  when  most  of  your  proud 
folks  makes  no  bones  of  tippling  with  a  tallow  chandler  in  his 
back  room,  on  a  melting  day ;  but  he !  Except  calling  me 
Cousin  and  buying  a  lot  of  damaged  huckaback  to  cut  into 
kitchen  towels,  he  was  as  cold  and  as  stiff  as  he  is  now,  though 
he  has  been  dead  and  buried  these  nine  months,  rot  him  ! 

Lady  Duberly.     There  again  now  !  Rot  him  ! 

Lord  Duberly.  Why,  blood  and  thunder  !  What  is  a  man 
to  say  when  he  wants  to  consecrate  his  old  stiff -rumped  rela- 
tions ?  (Rings  the  bell. ) 

Lady  Duberly.  Why,  an -oath  now  and  then  may  slip  in, 
to  garnish  genteel  conversation,  but  then  it  should  be  done 
with  an  air  to  one's  equals,  and  with  a  kind  of  careless  con- 
descension to  menials. 

Lord  Duberly.     Should  it  ?     Well,  then,  —  Here,  John  ! 

(Enter  John.*) 

My  good  man,  take  away  the  tea,  and  be  d to  you. 

John.     Yes,  my  Lord.  (Exit.~) 

Lady  Duberly.  And  now,  my  Lord,  I  must  leave  you  for 
the  concerns  of  the  day.  We  elegant  people  are  as  full  of 
business  as  an  egg's  full  of  meat. 

Lord  Duberly.  Yes,  we  elegant  people  find  the  trade  of  the 
tone,  as  they  call  it,  plaguy  fatiguing.  What,  you  are  for 
the  wis  a  wis  this  morning  ?  Much  good  may  it  do  you,  my 
Lady.  D — n  me,  it  makes  me  sit  stuck  up,  and  squeezed  like 
a  bear  in  a  bathing  tub. 

Lady  Duberly.     I  have  a  hundred  places  to  call  at.     Folks 


184  COLMAN  THE  YOUNGER 

are  so  civil  since  we  came  to  take  possession  !  There's  dear 
Lady  Littlefigure,  Lord  Sponge,  Mrs.  Hoklbank,  Lady  Betty 
Pillory,  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Cheatwell,  and  — 

Lord  Duberly,  Aye,  aye  ;  you  may  always  find  plenty  in 
this  here  town  to  be  civil  to  fifteen  thousand  a  year,  my  Lady. 

Lady  Duberly.  Well,  there's  no  learning  you  life.  I'm 
sure  they  are  as  kind  and  friendly  !  The  supper  Lady  Betty 
gave  to  us  and  a  hundred  friends  must  have  cost  her  fifty 
good  pounds,  if  it  cost  a  brass  farden  ;  and  she  does  the  same 
thing,  I'm  told,  three  times  a  week.  If  she  isn't  monstrous 
rich,  I  wonder,  for  my  part,  how  she  can  afford  it. 

Lord  Duberly.  Why,  ecod,  my  Lady,  that  would  have 
puzzled  me  too,  if  they  hadn't  hooked  me  into  a  d — d  game  of 
cocking  and  punting,  I  think  they  call  it,  where  I  lost  as  much 
in  half  a  hour  as  would  keep  her  and  her  company  in  fricassees 
and  whip  sullibubs  for  a  fortnight.  But  I  may  be  even  with 
her  some  o'  these  a'ternoons.  Only  let  me  catch  her  at  put; 
that's  all. 

(Enter  John.) 

John.     Doctor  Pangloss  is  below,  my  Lord. 

Lord  Duberly.  Oddsbobs,  my  Lady  !  That's  the  man  as 
learns  me  to  talk  English. 

Lady  Duberly.     Hush  !  Consider  —      (Pointing  to  John. ) 

Lord  Duberly.  Hum  !  I  forgot  —  Curse  me,  my  honest  fel- 
low, show  him  up  stairs  ;  d'ye  hear  ?  (Exit  John.)  There  ! 
Was  that  easy  ? 

Lady  Duberly.     Tolerable. 

Lord  Duberly.  Well,  now,  get  along,  my  Lady  ;  the  Doc- 
tor and  I  must  be  snug. 

Lady  Duberly.  Then  I  bid  you  good  morning,  my  Lord. 
As  Lady  Betty  says,  I  wish  you  a  bon  repos.1  (Exit.) 

Lord  Duberly.  A  bon  repos!  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but 
the  women  are  more  cuter  at  these  here  matters  nor  the  men. 
My  wife,  as  everybody  may  see,  is  as  genteel  already  as  if  she 

1  Good  night. 


DICK   DOWLAS    AND    HIS    TUTOR  185 

had  been  born  a  duchess.  This  Doctor  Pangloss  will  do  me  a 
deal  of  good  in  the  way  of  fashioning  my  discourse.  So  here 
he  is. 

(JEnter  Pangloss.') 

Doctor,  good  morning  —  I  wish  you  a  bon  repos !  Take  a 
chair,  Doctor. 

Pangloss.  Pardon  me,  my  Lord  ;  I  am  not  inclined  to  be 
sedentary.  I  wish  with  permission,  — 

"  erectus  ad  sidera  tollere  vultus."  * 
—  Ovid.     Hem ! 

Lord  Duberly.  Tollory  vultures  !  I  suppose  that  that  means 
you  had  rather  stand  ? 

Pangloss.  Fye,  this  is  a  locomotive  morning  with  me.  Just 
hurried,  my  Lord,  from  the  Society  of  Arts;  whence,  I  may 

say, 

"  T  have  borne  my  blushing  honors  thick  upon  me." 

—  Shakspeare.     Hem  ! 

Lord  Duberly.  And  what  has  put  your  honors  to  the  blush 
this  morning,  Doctor  ? 

Pangloss.  To  the  blush  !  A  ludicrous  perversion  of  the 
author's  meaning  —  he  !  he  !  he  !  Hem  !  You  shall  hear,  my 

Lord  ; 

"  Lend  me  your  ears." 

—  Shakspeare,  again.     Hem  !     'Tis  not  unknown  to  your  Lord- 
ship and  the  no  less  literary  world  that  the  Caledonian  Uni- 
versity of  Aberdeen  2  long  since  conferred  upon  me  the  dignity 
of  LL.D.  ;  and  as  I  never  beheld  that  erudite  body,  I    may 
safely  say  they  dubbed  me  with  a  degree  from  sheer  considera- 
tions of  my  celebrity. 

Lord  Duberly.     True. 

Pangloss.  For  nothing,  my  Lord,  but  my  own  innate  mod- 
esty could  suppose  that  Scotch  college  to  be  swayed  by  one 

1  To  hold  my  face  up,  towards  the  stars. 

2  There  is  no  institution  of  this  name  at  Aberdeen. 


186  COLMAN   THE   YOUNGER 

pound  fifteen  shillings  and  three  pence  three  farthings,  paid, 
on  receiving  my  diploma,  as  a  handsome  compliment  to  the 
numerous  and  learned  head  of  that  seminary. 

Lord  Duberly.  Oh,  d — n  it,  no  ;  it  wasn't  for  the  matter 
of  money. 

Pangloss.     I  do  not  think  it  was  altogether  the 

"  A  uri  sacra  fames." 1 

— Vergil.  Hem  !  but  this  very  day,  my  Lord,  at  eleven  o'clock, 
A.M.,  the  Society  of  Arts,  in  consequence,  as  they  were 
pleased  to  say,  of  my  merits,  —  he  !  he  !  he  !  —  my  merits,  my 
Lord  —  have  admitted  me  as  an  unworthy  member  ;  and  I 
have  henceforward  the  privilege  of  adding  to  my  name  the 
honorable  title  of  A.  double  S. 

Lord  Duberly.  And  I  make  no  doubt,  Doctor,  but  you  have 
richly  deserved  it.  I  warrant  a  man  doesn't  get  A.  double  S. 
tacked  to  his  name  for  nothing. 

Pangloss.  Decidedly  not,  my  Lord.  Yes,  I  am  now  Artium 
Societatis  Sooius.2  My  two  last  publications  did  that  business. 

"  Exegi  monumentum  cere  perennius."  8 

—  Horace.    Hem  ! 

Lord  Duberly.  And  what  might  them  there  two  books  be 
about,  Doctor  ? 

Pangloss.  The  first,  my  Lord,  was  a  plan  to  lull  the  rest- 
less to  sleep  by  an  infusion  of  opium  into  their  ears.  The 
efficacy  of  this  method  originally  struck  me  in  St.  Stephen's 
chapel,  while  listening  to  the  oratory  of  a  worthy  country 
gentleman. 

Lord  Duberly.  I  wonder  it  wa'n't  hit  upon  before  by  the 
doctors. 

Pangloss.  Physicians,  my  Lord,  put  their  patients  to  sleep 
in  another  manner.  He  I  he  !  he  ! 

"  To  die  —  to  sleep ;  no  more." 

1  The  accursed  thirst  for  gold.  2  Fellow  of  the  Society  of  Arts. 

8  I  have  erected  a  monument  more  enduring  than  bronze. 


LICK  DOWLAS  AND  HIS   TUTOR  187 

—  Shakspeaie.  Hem!  My  second  treatise  was  a  proposal  for 
erecting  dove  houses,  on  a  principle  tending  to  increase  the 
propagation  of  pigeons.  This,  I  may  affirm,  has  received  con- 
siderable countenance  from  many  who  move  in  the  circles  of 

fashion. 

"  Nee  gemerc  cessabit  turtur."  l 

—  Vergil.  Hem  !  I  am  about  to  publish  a  third  edition,  by 
subscription.  May  I  have  the  honor  to  pop  your  Lordship 
down  among  the  pigeons  ? 

Lord  Duberly.     Aye,  aye  ;  down  with  me,  Doctor. 

Pangloss.  My  Lord,  I  am  grateful.  I  ever  insert  names 
and  titles  at  full  length.  What  may  be  your  Lordship's  spon- 
sorial  and  patronymic  appellations  ?  ( Taking  out  his  pocket- 
book.} 

Lord  Duberly.     My  what  ? 

Pangloss.  I  mean,  my  Lord,  the  designations  given  to  you 
by  your  Lordship's  godfathers  and  parents. 

Lord  Duberly.  Oh!  What?  My  Christian  and  surname  ?  I 
was  baptized  Daniel. 

Pangloss. 

"Abolens  baptismate  labem."3 

I  forget  where  —  No  matter.  Hem  !  The  Right  Honorable 
Daniel  —  (writing}. 

Lord  Duberly.     Dowlas. 

Pangloss  (writing}.     Dowlas  — 

"  Filthy  Dow  I ' 

Hem  !  Shakspeare.  The  Right  Honorable  Daniel  Dowlas, 
Baron  Duberly.  And  now,  my  Lord,  to  your  lesson  for  the 
day.  (They  sit.} 

Lord  Duberly.     Now  for  it,  Doctor. 

Pangloss.  The  process  which  we  are  now  upon,  is  to  erad- 
icate that  blemish  in  your  Lordship's  language  which  the 

1  The  turtledove  will  not  cease  to  sigh.        2  Effacing  the  stain  by  baptism. 


188  COLMAN  THE  YOUNGER 

learned  denominate  cacology,  and  which  the  vulgar  call  slip- 
slop. 

Lord  Duberly.  I'm  afraid,  Doctor,  my  cakelology  will  give 
you  a  tolerable  tight  job  on't. 

Pangloss. 

"  Nil  desperandum."  * 

—  Horace.    Hem  !  we'll  begin  in  the  old  way,  my  Lord.     Talk 
on  ;  when  you  stumble,  I  check.     Where  was  your  Lordship 
yesterday  evening  ? 

Lord  Duberly.     At  a  consort. 

Pangloss.  Umph  !  T§te-d-tete  with  Lady  Duberly,  I  pre- 
sume. 

Lord  Duberly.  Tete-d-tSte  with  five  hundred  people,  hearing 
of  music. 

Pangloss.  Oh  !  I  conceive.  Your  Lordship  would  say  a 
concert.  Mark  the  distinction  ;  a  concert,  my  Lord,  is  an 
entertainment  visited  by  fashionable  lovers  of  harmony.  Now 
a  consort  is  a  wife  —  little  conducive  to  harmony  in  the  present 
day,  and  seldom  visited  by  a  man  of  fashion  unless  she  happens 
to  be  his  friend's  or  his  neighbor's. 

Lord  Duberly.  A  D — 1  of  a  difference,  indeed !  Between 
you  and  I,  Doctor  (now  my  Lady's  out  of  hearing),  a  wife  is 
the  D— 1. 

Pangloss.  He!  he!  he!  There  are  plenty  of  Jobs  in  the 
world,  my  Lord. 

Lord  Duberly.  And  a  d — d  sight  of  Jezebels,  too,  Doctor. 
But  patience,  as  you  say  —  for  I  never  gives  my  Lady  no  bad 
language.  Whenever  she  gets  in  her  tantrums  and  talks  high, 
I  always  sits  mumchance. 

Pangloss. 

"  So  spake  our  mother  Eve,  and  Adam  heard." 

—  Milton.     Hem!     (They  rise.)     Silence  is   most  secure,  my 
Lord,  in  these  cases ;    for  if  once  your  Lordship  opened  your 
mouth,  'tis  twenty  to  one  but  bad  language  would  follow. 

1  Nothing  is  to  be  despaired  of. 


DICK  DOWLAS  AND  HIS   TUTOR  189 

Lord  Duberly.  Oh,  that's  a  sure  thing ;  and  I  never  liked  to 
disperse  the  women. 

Pangloss.     -As-perse. 

Lord  Duberly.  Humph !  There's  another  stumble !  After 
all,  Doctor,  I  shall  make  but  a  poor  progress  in  my  vermicular 
tongue. 

Pangloss.  Your  knowledge  of  our  native,  or  vernacular  lan- 
guage, my  Lord,  time  and  industry  may  meliorate.  Vermicular 
is  an  epithet  seldom  applied  to  tongues,  but  in  the  case  of 
puppies  who  want  to  be  wormed. 

Lord  Duberly.  Ecod,  then  I  a'n't  so  much  out,  Doctor.  I've 
met  plenty  of  puppies  since  I  came  to  town,  whose  tongues  are 
so  troublesome  that  worming  might  chance  to  be  of  service. 
But,  Doctor,  I've  a  bit  of  a  proposal  to  make  to  you,  concern- 
ing my  own  family. 

Pangloss.     Disclose,  my  Lord. 

Lord  Duberly.  Why,  you  must  know,  I  expect  my  son 
Dicky  in  town  this  here  very  morning.  Now,  Doctor,  if  you 
would  but  mend  his  cakelology,  mayhap  it  might  be  better 
worth  while  than  the  mending  of  mine. 

Pangloss.  I  smell  a  pupil.  (Aside.}  Whence,  my  Lord,  does 
the  young  gentleman  come  ? 

Lord  Duberly.  You  shall  hear  all  about  it.  You  know, 
Doctor,  though  I'm  of  good  family  distraction  — 

Pangloss.     Ex. 

Lord  Duberly.  Though  I'm  of  a  good  family  extraction, 
'twas  but  t'other  day  I  kept  a  shop  at  Gosport. 

Pangloss.     The  rumor  has  reached  me. 

"  Fama  volat  viresque."  * 

Lord  Duberly.     Don't  put  me  out. 
Pane/loss.     —  Vergil.     Hem  !  proceed. 

Lord  Duberly.  A  tradesman,  you  know,  must  mind  the  main 
chance  ;  so  when  Dick  began  to  grow  as  big  as  a  porpoise,  I  got 

1  Rumor  flies  and  gains  strength. 


190  COLMAN   THE   YOUNGER 

an  old  friend  of  mine,  who  lives  in  Derbyshire,  close  to  the 
Devil's  —  humph  !  close  to  the  Peak  —  to  take  Dick  'prentice 
at  half  price.  He's  just  now  out  of  his  time,  and  I  warrant 
him  as  wild  and  as  rough  as  a  rock ;  now  if  you,  Doctor,  if 
you  would  but  take  him  in  hand  and  soften  him  a  bit  — 
Pangloss.  Pray,  my  Lord  — 

" — to  soften  rocks !  " 

—  Congreve.  Hem  !  pray,  my  Lord,  what  profession  may  the 
honorable  Mr.  Dowlas  have  followed? 

Lord  Duberly.  Who  ?  Dick  ?  He  has  served  his  clerkship 
to  an  attorney  at  Castleton. 

Pangloss.  An  attorney !  Gentlemen  of  his  profession,  my 
Lord,  are  very  difficult  to  soften. 

Lord  Duberly.  Yes,  but  the  pay  may  make  it  worth  while. 
I'm  told  that  Lord  Spindle  gives  his  eldest  son  Master  Drum- 
stick's tutorer  three  hundred  a  year ;  and  besides  learning  his 
pupil,  he  has  to  read  my  Lord  to  sleep  of  an  afternoon,  and 
walk  out  with  the  lapdogs  and  children.  Now,  if  three  hun- 
dred a  year,  Doctor,  will  do  the  business  for  Dick,  I-  shan't 
begrudge  it  you. 

Pangloss.  Three  hundred  a  year  !  Say  no  more,  my  Lord. 
LL.D.,  A.  double  S.,  and  three  hundred  a  year!  I  accept  the 

office. 

"  Verbum  sat." 1 

-  Horace.  Hem  !  I'll  run  to  my  lodgings  —  settle  with  Mrs. 
Suds  —  put  my  wardrobe  into  a  —  no,  I've  got  it  all  on,  and  — 
{going). 

Lord  Duberly.  Hold,  hold!  Not  so  hasty,  Doctor,  I  must 
first  send  you  for  Dick,  to  the  Blue  Boar. 

Pangloss.  The  Honorable  Mr.  Dowlas,  my  pupil,  at  the  Blue 
Boar? 

Lord  Duberly.     Aye,  in  Holborn.     As  I  an't  fond  of  telling 

1  A  word  is  sufficient. 


DICK  DOWLAS  AND  HIS   TUTOR  191 

people  good  news  beforehand,  for  fear  they  may  be  baulked, 
Dick  knows  nothing  of  my  being  made  a  Lord. 
Pangloss.     Three  hundred  a  year ! 

"  I've  often  wished  that  I  had  clear, 
For  life,  —  six  "  no ;  three  — 
"three  hundred." 

Lord  Duberly.  I  wrote  him  just  before  I  left  Gosport,  to  tell 
him  to  meet  me  in  London  with  — 

Pangloss. 

"  Three  hundred  pounds  a  year  1 " 
-Swift  — Hem! 

Lord  Duberly.     With  all  speed,  upon  business,  d'ye  mind  me  ? 

Pangloss.  Dr.  Pangloss,  with  an  income  of  —  No  lapdogs, 
my  Lord? 

Lord  Duberly.  Nay,  but  listen,  Doctor;  and  as  I  didn't 
know  where  old  Ferret  was  to  make  me  live  in  London,  I  told 
Dick  to  be  at  the  Blue  Boar  this  morning,  by  the  stage-coach. 
Why,  you  don't  hear  what  I'm  talking  about,  Doctor. 

Pangloss.  Oh,  perfectly,  my  Lord  —  three  hundred  —  Blue 
Boars  —  in  a  stage-coach ! 

Lord  Duberly.  Well,  step  into  my  room,  Doctor,  and  I'll 
give  you  a  letter  which  you  shall  carry  to  the  inn,  and  bring 
Dick  away  with  you.  I  warrant  the  boy  will  be  ready  to 
jump  out  of  his  skin. 

Pangloss.  Skin !  Jump  !  Zounds  !  I'm  ready  to  jump  out  of 
mine  !  I  follow  your  Lordship  —  oh,  Doctor  Pangloss,  where 
is  your  philosophy,  now !  I  attend  you,  my  Lord. 

"  jEquam  memento  "  — 
—  Horace  — 

Servare  mentem.1 

Hem!  bless  me,  I'm  all  in  a  fluster,  LL.D.,  A.  double  S.,  and 
three  hundred  a  —    I  attend  your  Lordship. 

1  Remember  to  keep  a  collected  mind. 


192  COLMAN   THE  YOUNGER 

ACT  H. 

SCENE  II.  — A  room  in  the  Blue  Boar  Inn. 
(Enter  Dr.  Pangloss  and  Waiter.} 

Pangloss.     Let  the  chariot  turn  about.     Dr.  Pangloss  in  a 

Lord's  chariot ! 

"  Curra  portabur  eodem." 1 

—  Juvenal.     Hem  \  waiter ! 
Waiter.     Sir. 

Pangloss.  Have  you  any  gentleman  here  who  arrived  this 
morning  ? 

Waiter.     There's  one  in  the  house  now,  Sir. 

Pangloss.     Is  he  juvenile  ? 

Waiter.     No,  Sir,  he's  Derbyshire. 

Pangloss.  He !  he !  he  !  Of  what  appearance  is  the  gentle- 
man? 

Waiter.     Why,  plaguey  poor,  Sir. 

Pangloss. 

"  I  hold  him  rich,  al  had  he  not  a  sherte." 

—  Chaucer.     Hem  !   Denominated  the  Honorable  Mr.  Dowlas  ? 
Waiter.     Honorable !     He  left  his  name  plain  Dowlas  at  the 

bar,  Sir. 

Pangloss.     Plain  Dowlas,  did  he  ?     That  will  do ;  — 

"And  all  the  rest  is  leather"  — 


Waiter.     Leather,  Sir 
Pangloss. 


"  and  prunello." 


—  Pope.     Hem!   tell  Mr.   Dowlas  a  gentleman  requests  the 
honor  of  an  interview,. 

Waiter.     This  is  his  room,  Sir.     He  is  but  just  stepped  into 
our  parcel  warehouse  ;  he'll  be  with  you  directly. 


1  He  is  borne  in  the  same  carriage. 


DICK  DOWLAS  AND  HIS   TUTOR  193 

Pangloss.  Never  before  did  honor  and  affluence  let  fall  such 
a  shower  on  the  head  of  Dr.  Pangloss !  Fortune,  I  thank 
thee  !  Propitious  goddess,  I  am  grateful !  I,  thy  favored  child, 
who  commenced  his  career  in  the  loftiest  apartment  of  a  muffin- 
maker  in  Milk  Alley.  Little  did  I  think,  — 

"  good,  easy  man," 

—  Shakspeare.     Hem !  —  of  the  riches  and  literary  dignities 
which  now  — 

(Enter  Dick  Dowlas.') 
My  pupil ! 

Dick  (speaking  while  entering).  Well,  where  is  the  man  that 
wants  —  oh !  You  are  he,  I  suppose  — 

Pangloss.     I  am  the  man,  young  gentleman ! 

"  Homo  sum."  J 

—  Terence.     Hem  !     Sir,  the  person  who  now  presumes  to  ad- 
dress you  is  Peter  Pangloss,  to  whose  name,  in  the  college  of 
Aberdeen,  is  subjoined,  LL.D.,  signifying  Doctor  of  Laws;  to 
which  has  been  recently  added  the  distinction  of  A.  double  S., 
the  Roman  initials  for  a  Fellow  of  the  Society  of  Arts. 

Dick.  Sir,  I  am  your  most  obedient,  Richard  Dowlas,  to 
whose  name,  in  his  tailor's  bill,  is  subjoined,  Dr.,  signifying 
debtor;  to  which  are  added  L.S.D.,  the  Roman  initials  for 
pounds,  shillings,  and  pence. 

Pangloss.  Ha  !  This  youth  was  doubtless  designed  by  des- 
tiny to  move  in  the  circles  of  fashion  ;  for  he  is  dipped  in  debt, 
and  makes  a  merit  of  telling  it. 

Dick.     But  what  are  your  commands  with  me,  Doctor? 

Pangloss.  I  have  the  honor,  young  gentleman,  of  being  de- 
puted an  ambassador  to  you,  from  your  father. 

Dick.  Then  you  have  the  honor  to  be  an  ambassador  of  as 
good-natured  an  old  fellow  as  ever  sold  a  ha'p'orth  of  cheese 
in  a  chandler's  shop. 

1  I  am  the  man. 
SCH.  IN  COM.  — 13 


194  COLMAN   THE  YOUNGER 

Pangloss.  Pardon  me  if,  on  the  subject  of  your  father's 
cheese,  I  advise  you  to  be  as  mute  as  a  mouse  in  one,  for  the 
future.  'Twere  better  to  keep  that 

"  alta  mente  repostum."  1 

—  Vergil.     Hem  ! 

Dick.  Why,  what's  the  matter  ?  Any  misfortune  ?  Broke, 
I  fear. 

Pangloss.  No,  not  broke  ;  but  his  name,  as  'tis  customary 
in  these  cases,  has  appeared  in  the  Gazette. 

Dick.    Not  broke,  but  Gazetted  !  Why,  zounds  and  the  D — 1  ! 

Pangloss.  Check  your  passions  ;  learn  philosophy.  When 
the  wife  of  the  great  Socrates  threw  a  —  hum  !  —  threw  a  teapot 
at  his  erudite  head,  he  was  as  cool  as  a  cucumber.  When 
Plato  - 

Dick.     D— n  Plato  !    What  of  my  father  ? 

Pangloss.  Don't  d — n  Plato.  The  bees  swarmed  round  his 
mellifluous  mouth  as  soon  as  he  was  swaddled. 

"  Cum  in  cunis  apes  in  labellis  consedissent."  2 

—  Cicero.     Hem  ! 

Dick.  I  wish  you  had  a  swarm  round  yours,  with  all  my 
heart.  Come  to  the  point. 

Pangloss.     In  due  time.     But  calm  your  choler. 

"Ira  furor  brevis  est."* 

—  Horace.     Hem!     Read  this.     (Gives  a  letter.') 
Dick  (snatches  the  letter,  breaks  it  open,  and  reads)  : 

Dear  Dick :  This  comes  to  inform  you  I  am  in  a  perfect  state 
of  health,  hoping  you  are  the  same.  Aye,  that's  the  old  begin- 
ning. It  was  my  lot,  last  week,  to  be  made  —  aye,  a  bankrupt,  I 
suppose  —  to  be  made  a  —  What  ?  —  to  be  made  a  p-e-a-r ;  A 
pear  !  To  be  made  a  pear  !  What  the  D — 1  does  he  mean  by 
that? 

1  Stored  deep  in  the  mind. 

2  When  the  bees  swarmed  about  his  lips  in  the  cradle. 
8  Anger  is  a  brief  madness. 


DICK  DOWLAS  AND  HIS   TUTOR  195 

Pangloss.  A  Peer  —  a  Peer  of  the  realm.  His  Lordship's 
orthography  is  a  little  loose,  but  several  of  his  equals  counte- 
nance the  custom.  Lord  Loggerhead  always  spells  physician 
with  an/. 

Dick.  A  Peer!  What,  my  father !  I'm  electrified.  Old 
Daniel  Dowlas  made  a  Peer!  But  let  me  see  —  (reads  on) 
pear  of  the  realm.  Lawyer  Ferret  got  me  my  tit  —  tit  —  oh,  title  I 

—  and  an  estate  of  fifteen  thousand  per  arm.,  by  making  me  out 
next  of  kin  to  old  Lord  Duberly,  because  he  died  without  —  with- 
out hair.     'Tis  an  odd  reason,  by  the  bye,  to  be  next  of  kin  to 
a  nobleman  because  he  died  bald. 

Pangloss.  His  Lordship  means  heir  —  heir  to  his  estate. 
We  shall  meliorate  his  style  speedily. 

"  Reform  it  altogether." 

—  Shakspeare.     Hem! 

Dick.     I  send  my  carrot.     Carrot ! 

Pangloss.     He,  he,  he!    Chariot  his  Lordship  means. 

Dick.     With  Dr.  Pangloss  in  it. 

Pangloss.     That's  me. 

Dick.  Respect  him,  for  he's  an  LL.D.,  and  moreover,  an  A. 
double  S.  (They  bow.*) 

Pangloss.  His  Lordship  kindly  condescended  to  insert  that 
at  my  request. 

Dick.  And  I  have  made  him  your  tutorer,  to  mend  your 
cakelology. 

Pangloss.  Cacology  ;  from  Ka/to<?,  malus,  and  Ao709,  verbum. 
Vide  Lexicon.  Hem ! 

Dick.  Come  with  the  Doctor  to  my  house  in  Hanover  Square. 
Hanover  Square  !  I  remain  your  affectionate  father,  to  com- 
mand —  DUBERLY. 

Pangloss.     That's  his  Lordship's  title. 

Dick.     Is  it  1 

Pangloss.     It  is. 

Dick.  Say  sir  to  a  Lord's  son.  You  have  no  more  manners 
than  a  bear. 


196  COLMAN   THE  YOUNGER 

Pangloss.  Bear  !  Under  favor,  young  gentleman,  I  am  the 
bear-leader,  being  appointed  your  tutor. 

Dick.     And  what  can  you  teach  me  ? 

Pangloss.  Prudence.  Don't  forget  yourself  in  sudden  suc- 
cess. 

"  Tecum  habila."1 

—  Persius.    Hem  ! 

Dick.  Prudence  to  a  nobleman's  son,  with  fifteen  thousand 
a  year  ! 

Pangloss.     Don't  give  way  to  your  passions. 

Dick.  Give  way?  Zounds!  I'm  wild  —  mad!  You  teach 
me  ?  Pooh  !  I  have  been  in  London  before,  and  know  it  re- 
quires no  teaching  to  be  made  a  modern  fine  gentleman.  Why, 
it  all  lies  in  a  nutshell :  Sport  a  curricle  —  walk  Bond  street 
— play  at  faro  —  get  drunk  —  dance  reels  — go  to  the  opera  — 
cut  off  your  tail  —  pull  on  your  pantaloons  —  and  there's  a 
buck  of  the  first  fashion  in  town  for  you.  D — n  me,  d'ye 
think  I  don't  know  what's  going  ? 

Pangloss.  Mercy  on  me  !  I  shall  have  a  very  refractory 
pupil ! 

Dick.  Not  at  all.  We'll  be  hand  and  glove  together,  my 
little  Doctor.  I'll  drive  you  down  to  all  the  races,  with  my 
terrier  between  your  legs,  in  a  tandem. 

Pangloss.  Doctor  Pangloss,  the  philosopher,  with  a  terrier 
between  his  legs,  in  a  tandem  ! 

Dick.     I'll  tell  you  what,  Doctor,  I'll  make  you  my  long- 
stop  at  cricket.     You  shall  draw  corks  when  I'm  president  — 
laugh  at  my  jokes  before  company  —  squeeze  lemons  for  punch 

—  cast  up  the  reckoning  —  and  woe  betide  you  if  you  don't 
keep  sober  enough  to  see  me  safe  home,  after  a  jollification ! 

Pangloss.  Make  me  a  long-stop,  and  a  squeezer  of  lemons ! 
Zounds !  This  is  more  fatiguing  than  walking  out  with  the 
lapdogs !  And  are  these  the  qualifications  for  a  tutor,  young 
gentleman  ? 

1  Be  self-possessed. 


LICK  DOWLAS  AND  HIS  TUTOR  197 

Dick.  To  be  sure  they  are.  'Tis  the  way  that  half  the  prig 
parsons,  who  educate  us  honorables,  jump  into  fat  livings. 

Pangloss.  'Tis  well  they  jump  into  something  fat,  at  last, 
for  they  must  wear  all  the  flesh  off  their  bones  in  the  process. 

Dick.     Come  now,  tutor,  go  you  and  call  the  waiter. 

Pangloss.  Go  and  call !  Sir,  sir  !  I'd  have  you  to  under- 
stand, Mr.  Dowlas  — 

Dick.  Aye,  let  us  understand  one  another,  Doctor.  My 
father,  I  take  it,  comes  down  handsomely  to  you  for  your  man- 
agement of  me. 

Pangloss.     My  Lord  has  been  liberal. 

Dick.  But  'tis  /  must  manage  you,  Doctor.  Acknowledge 
this,  and,  between  ourselves,  I'll  find  means  to  double  your 
pay. 

Pangloss.     Double  my  — 

Dick.  Do  you  hesitate  ?  Why,  man,  you  have  set  up  for  a 
modern  tutor  without  knowing  your  trade. 

Pangloss.     Double  my  pay  I     Say  no  more — done. 

"  Actum  est."1 

—  Terence.    Hem!  Waiter!  (Bawling.')    Gad,  I've  reached  the 
right  reading  at  last  — 

"  I've  often  wished  that  I  had  clear, 
For  life,  six  hundred  pounds  a  year." 

—  Swift.     Hem  !     Waiter  ! 

Dick.  That's  right ;  tell  him  to  pop  my  clothes  and  linen 
into  the  carriage ;  they  are  in  that  bundle. 

(Enter  Waiter.} 

Pangloss.  Waiter,  here.  Put  up  the  honorable  Mr.  Dow- 
las's clothes  and  linen  into  his  father's,  Lord  Duberly's 
chariot. 

Waiter.     Where  are  they  all,  Sir  ? 

1  It  is  done. 


198  COLMAN  THE  YOUNGER 

Pangloss.  All  wrapped  up  in  the  Honorable  Mr.  Dowlas's 
pocket  handkerchief.  (Exit  Waiter,  with  bundle.} 

Dick.  See  'em  safe  in,  Doctor,  and  I'll  be  with  you  di- 
rectly. 

Pangloss.  I  go,  most  worthy  pupil.  Six  hundred  pounds 
a  year.  However  deficient  in  the  classics,  his  knowledge  of 
arithmetic  is  admirable. 

"  I've  often  wished  that  I  had  clear, 
For  life,  —  " 

Dick.     Nay,  nay,  don't  be  so  slow. 

Pangloss.     Swift.     Hem!  I'm  gone.  (Exit.} 

Dick.     What  am  I  to  do  with  Zekiel  and   Cis?     When  a 

poor  man  has  grown   great,  his  old   acquaintances   generally 

begin  to  be  troublesome. 

(Enter  Zekiel.} 

Zekiel.     Well,  I  ha'n't  been  long. 

Dick.     No,  you  are  come  time  enough,  in  all  conscience. 

(Coolly.} 

Zekiel.  Cicely  ha'  gotten  the  place.  I  be  e'en  almost  stark 
wild  wi'  joy.  Such  a  good-natured  young  madam  !  Why,  you 
don't  seem  pleased,  man !  Sure,  and  sure,  you  be  glad  of  our 
good  fortune,  Dick. 

Dick.  Dick  !  What  do  you  —  Oh,  but  he  doesn't  know  yet, 
that  I  am  a  Lord's  son.  I  rejoice  to  hear  of  your  success,  friend 
Zekiel. 

Zekiel.  Why,  now,  that's  hearty.  But,  eh !  Why,  you 
look  mortal  heavy  and  lumpish,  Dick.  No  bad  tidings  since 
we  ha'  been  out,  I  hope. 

Dick.     Oh,  no ! 

Zekiel.  Eh !  let's  have  a  squint  at  you.  Odd  rabbit,  but 
summut  have  happened.  You  ha'  seen  your  father,  and  things 
ha'  gone  crossish.  Who  have  been  here,  Dick  ? 

Dick.  Only  a  gentleman  who  had  the  honor  of  being  deputed 
an  ambassador  from  my  father. 


DICK  DOWLAS  AND 

Zekiel.  What  a  dickens !  An  ambassador !  Pish,  now. 
You  be  a  queering  a  body.  An  ambassador,  sent  from  an  old 
chandler  to  Dick  Dowlas,  lawyer  Latitat's  clerk  ?  Come,  that 
be  a  good  one,  fegs ! 

Dick.  Dick  Dowlas !  And  lawyer's  clerk !  Sir,  the  gen- 
tleman came  to  inform  me  that  my  father,  by  being  proved 
next  of  kin  to  the  late  Lord,  is  now  Lord  Duberly;  by  which 
means  I  am  now  the  honorable  Mr.  Dowlas. 

Zekiel.  Odds  flesh  !  Gi'  us  your  fist,  Dick  !  I  ne'er  shook 
the  fist  of  an  Honorable  afore,  in  all  my  born  days.  Old 
Daniel  made  a  Lord  !  I  be  main  glad  to  hear  it.  This  be 
news  indeed !  But,  Dick,  I  hope  he  ha'  gotten  some  ready 
along  wi'  his  title;  for  a  Lord  without  money  be  but  a  foolish, 
wishy-washy  kind  of  a  thing,  a'ter  all. 

Dick.     My  father's  estate  is  fifteen  thousand  a  year. 

Zekiel.     Mercy  on  us  !     You  ha'  ta'en  away  my  breath. 

Dick.     Well,  Zekiel,  Cis  and  you  shall  hear  from  me  soon. 

Zekiel.     Why,  you  ben't  a  going,  Dick  ? 

Dick.  I  must  pay  my  duty  to  his  Lordship;  his  chariot 
waits  for  me,  below.  We  have  been  some  time  acquainted, 
Zekiel,  and  you  may  depend  upon  my  good  offices. 

Zekiel.  You  do  seem  a  little  flustrated  with  these  tidings, 
Dick.  'I  —  I  should  be  loth  to  think  your  kindness  was  a 
cooling. 

Dick.     Oh,  no !     Rely  on  my  protection. 

Zekiel.  Why,  look'e,  Dick  Dowlas;  as  to  protection  and 
all  that,  we  ha'  been  old  friends,  and,  if  I  should  need  it 
from  you,  it  be  no  more  nor  my  right  to  expect  it,  and  your 
business  to  give  it  me.  But  Cicely  ha'  gotten  a  place,  and  I 
ha'  hand  and  health  to  get  a  livelihood.  Fortune,  good  or 
bad,  tries  the  man,  they  do  say;  and  if  I  should  hap  to  be 
made  a  Lord  to-morrow  (as  who  can  say  what  may  betide, 
since  they  ha'  made  one  out  of  an  old  chandler),  — 

Dick.     Well,  Sir,  and  what  then  ? 

Zekiel.  Why  then,  the  finest  feather  in  my  Lordship's  cap 
would  be,  to  show  that  there  would  be  as  much  shame  in 


COLMAN   THE  YOUNGER 

slighting  an  old  friend  because  he  be  poor,  as  there  be  pleasure 
in  owning  him  when  it  be  in  our  power  to  do  him  service. 

Dick.  You  mistake  me,  Zekiel  —  I  —  I  —  'Sdeath!  I'm 
quite  confounded  !  I'm  trying  to  be  as  fashionable  here,  as 
my  neighbors;  but  nature  comes  in,  and  knocks  it  all  on  the 
head  (aside).  Zekiel,  give  me  your  hand. 

Zekiel.  Then,  there  be  a  hearty  Castleton  slap  for  you.  The 
grasp  of  an  honest  man  can't  disgrace  the  hand  of  a  Duke,  Dick. 

Dick.  You've  a  kind  soul,  Zekiel,  I  regard  you  sincerely. 
I  love  Cicely,  and  —  D  —  n  it,  I'm  going  too  far,  now,  for  a 
Lord's  son.  Pride  and  old  friendship  are  now  fighting  in  me, 
till  I  am  almost  bewildered.  (Aside.}  You  shall  hear  from 
me  in  a  few  hours.  Good-by  !  Zekiel!  Good-by  !  (Exit.} 

Zekiel.  I  don't  know  what  ails  me,  but  I  be  almost  ready 
to  cry.  Dick  be  a  high-mettled  youth,  and  this  news  ha'  put 
him  a  little  beside  himself.  I  should  make  a  bit  of  allowance. 
His  heart,  I  do  think,  be  in  the  right  road;  and  when  that  be 
the  cause,  he  be  a  hard  judge  that  won't  pardon  an  old  friend's 
spirits  when  they  do  carry  him  a  little  way  out  on't. 


ACT   III. 

SCENE   II.  —  An  apartment  in  Lord  Duberly's  house. 
(Lady  Duberly  and  Dr.  Pangloss.} 

Lady  Duberly.  And  how  does  my  Lord  come  on  with  his 
learning,  Doctor? 

Pangloss.  Apt,  very  apt,  indeed,  for  his  age.  Defective  in 
nothing  now  but  words,  phrases,  and  grammar. 

Lady  Duberly.  I  wish  you  could  learn  him  to  follow  my 
example,  and  be  a  little  genteel  ;  but  there  is  no  making  a  silk 
purse  out  of  a  sow's  ear,  they  say. 

Panyloss.  Time  may  do  much.  But  as  to  my  Lord,  every- 
body hasn't  your  Ladyship's  exquisite  elegance. 

"My  soul,  a  lie!" 
—  Shakspeare.     Hem  !    (Aside.) 


DICK  DOWLAS  AND  tits  TU?OR  201 

Lady  Duberly.  A  mighty  pretty  spoken  man.  And  you  are 
made  tutor,  I'm  told,  Doctor,  to  my  Dicky? 

Pangloss.  That  honor  has  accrued  to  your  obsequious  ser- 
vant, Peter  Pangloss.  I  have  now  the  felicity  of  superintend- 
ing your  Ladyship's  Dicky. 

Lady  Duberly.  I  must  not  have  my  son  thwarted,  Doctor ; 
for  when  he  has  his  way  in  everything,  he's  the  sweetest 
tempered  youth  in  Christendom. 

Pangloss.     An  extraordinary  instance  of  mildness  ! 

Lady  Duberly.  Oh,  as  mild  as  mother's  milk,  I  assure  you. 
And  what  is  he  to  learn,  Doctor? 

Pangloss.  Our  readings  will  be  various;  logic,  ethics,  and 
mathematics,  history  —  foreign  and  domestic,  geography  —  an- 
cient and  modern,  voyages  and  travels,  antiquities  —  British 
and  foreign,  natural  history,  natural  and  moral  philosophy, 
classics,  arts  and  sciences,  belles-lettres,  and  miscellanies. 

Lady  Duberly.  Bless  me !  "Pis  enough  to  batter  the  poor 
boy's  brains  to  a  mummy. 

Pangloss. 

"  A  little  learning  —  " 

Lady  Duberly.    Little  ?     A  load ! 

Pangloss. 

"  —  is  a  dangerous  thing." 
—  Pope.     Hem! 

Lady  Duberly.     And  you  have  left  out  the  main  article. 

Pangloss.     What  may  your  Ladyship  mean? 

Lady  Duberly.     Mean  !     Why,  dancing,  to  be  sure. 

Pangloss.  Dancing  ?  Dr.  Pangloss,  the  philosopher,  teach  to 
dance  ? 

Lady  Duberly.  Between  whiles,  you  might  give  Dick  a  les- 
son or  two  in  the  hall.  As  my  Lord's  valet  plays  on  the  kit, 
it  will  be  quite  handy  to  have  you  both  in  the  house,  you 
know. 

Pangloss.  This  is  a  d — d  barbarous  old  woman.  (Aside.} 
With  submission  to  your  Ladyship,  my  business  is  with  the 
head  and  not  the  heels  of  my  pupil. 


202  COLJIAN  THE  YOUNGER 

Lady  Duberly.  Fiddle  faddle !  Lady  Betty  tells  me  that 
the  heads  of  young  men  of  fashion,  nowadays,  are  by  no 
means  overloaded.  They  are  all  left  to  the  barber  and  den- 
tist. 

Pangloss.  'Twould  be  daring  to  dispute  so  self-evident  an 
axiom.  But,  if  your  Ladyship  — 

Lady  Duberly.  Look  ye,  Doctor;  he  must  learn  to  dance 
and  jabber  French,  and  I  wouldn't  give  a  brass  farden  for  any- 
thing else.  I  know  what's  elegance  —  and  you'll  find  the  gray 
mare  the  better  horse,  in  this  house,  I  promise  you. 

Pangloss.     Her  Ladyship  is  paramount. 

" Duxfemina  facti."  * 

— Vergil.     Hem  !     (Aside. ) 

Lady  Duberly.    What's  your  pay  here,  Mr.  Tutorer  ? 
Pangloss.    Three  hundred  pounds  per  annum  —  that  is,  six 

—  no,  three — no  —  ay  —  no  matter  —  the  rest  is  between  me 
and  A{r.  Dowlas.     (Aside.*) 

Lady  Duberly.  Do  as  I  direct  you  in  private,  and,  to  prevent 
words,  I'll  double  it. 

Pangloss.  Double  it !  What,  again  !  Nine  hundred !  I  am 
mum!  (Aside.)  I'll  take  it. 

"Your  hand;  a  covenant." 

—  Shakspeare.     Hem  !    Zounds  !    I've  got  beyond  the  reading, 

at  last! 

"  I've  often  wished  that  I  had  clear, 
For  life,"  — 

(Lord  Duberly  speaks  without.} 
I  hear,  my  Lord  — 

"  Nine  hundred  pounds  a  year." 

—  Swift.     Hem ! 

1 A  woman  was  the  leader  to  the  deed. 


DICK  DOWLAS  AND  HIS  TUTOR  203 

(Enter  Lord  Duberly  and  Dick  Dowlas.^) 

Lord  Duberly.  Come  along,  Dick  !  Here  he  is  again,  my 
Lady.  Twist,  the  tailor,  happened  to  come  in  promiscuously, 
as  I  may  say,  and  — 

Pangloss.     Accidentally,  my  Lord,  would  be  better. 

Lord  Duberly.  Ay,  accidentally  —  with  a  suit  of  my  Lord 
Docktail's  under  his  arm  ;  and,  as  we  was  in  a  bit  of  a  rumpus 
to  rig  out  Dick,  why  — 

Pangloss.     Dress,  not  rig  —  unless  metaphorically. 

Lord  Duberly.  Well,  to  dress  out  —  why,  we —  Humph! 
Doctor,  don't  bother.  In  short,  we  popped  Dick  into  'em  ; 
and,  Twist  says,  they  hit  to  a  hair. 

Dick.  Yes,  they  are  quite  the  dandy  ;  aren't  they,  Mother  ? 
This  is  all  the  go,  they  say ;  cut  straight,  that's  the  thing  — 
square  waist  —  wrap  over  the  knee,  and  all  that.  Slouch  is  the 
word  now,  you  know. 

Lady  Duberly.  Exceeding  genteel,  I  declare  !  Turn  about, 
Dick  ;  they  don't  pitch,  do  they  ? 

Dick.     Oh  no  !     Just  as  if  I'd  been  measured. 

Lord  Duberly.  Pitch?  Lord  love  you,  my  Lady,  they  sit 
like  a  sack.  But  why  don't  you  stand  up?  The  boy  rolls 
about  like  a  porpus  in  a  storm. 

Dick.  That's  the  fashion,  Father !  That's  modern  ease. 
Young  Vats,  the  beau  brewer  from  the  borough,  brought  it 
down,  last  Christmas,  to  Castleton.  A  young  fellow  is  nothing, 
now,  without  the  Bond  street  roll,  a  toothpick  between  his 
teeth,  and  his  knuckles  crammed  into  his  coat  pocket.  Then, 
away  you  go,  lounging  lazily  along.  "  Ah,  Tom  !  "  •  "  What  ?  " 
Still  rolling  away,  you  see  !  "How  are  you,  Jack?"  "What, 
my  little  Dolly?"  That's  the  way,  isn't  it,  Mother? 

Lady  Duberly.  The  very  air  and  grace  of  our  young  no- 
bility ! 

Lord  Duberly.  Is  it  ?  Grace  must  have  got  plaguy  limber 
and  lopt,  of  late.  There's  the  last  Lord  Duberly's  father,  done 
in  our  dining-room,  with  a  wig  as  wide  as  a  washtub,  and 


204 

stuck  up  as  stiff  as  a  poker.  He  was  one  of  your  tiptops,  too, 
in  his  time,  they  tell  me  ;  he  carried  a  gold  stick  before  George 
the  First. 

Lady  Duberly.  Yes ;  and  looks,  for  all  the  world,  as  straight 
as  if  he  had  swallowed  it. 

Lord  Duberly.  No  matter  for  that,  my  Lady.  What  signi- 
fies dignity  without  its  cracker istick.  A  man  should  know 
how  to  be  mean  himself,  when  he  is  as  rich  as  Pluto. 

Pangloss.  Plutus,  if  you  please,  my  Lord.  Pluto,  no 
doubt,  has  disciples,  and  followers  of  fashion ;  but  Plutus  is 
the  ruler  of  riches. 

"  &r)fur)Tr)p  fixv  IlXovrov  eyetWro."1 

—  Hesiod.     Hem ! 

Lord  Duberly.  There,  Dick!  D'ye  hear  how  the  tutorer 
talks  ?  Odd  rabbit ! 2  He  can  ladle  you  out  Latin  by  the  quart, 
and  grunt  Greek  like  a  pig.  I've  gin  him  three  hundred  a 
year,  and  settled  all  he's  to  larn  you.  Ha'n't  I,  Doctor? 

Pangloss.     Certainly,  my  Lord. 

"Thrice  to  thine  —  " 

Dick.    Yes,  we  know  all  about  that.     Don't  we,  Doctor? 
Pangloss.     Decidedly  — 

"and  thrice  to  thine — " 

Lady  Duberly.  Aye,  aye;  clearly  understood.  Isn't  it, 
Doctor  ? 

Pangloss.     Undoubtedly  — 

"  And  thrice  again,  to  make  up  nine." 

—  Shakspeare.     Hem  I  (These  three  quotations  aside.) 


1  Demeter  bore  Plutus. 

2  A  meaningless  exclamation. 


DICK  DOWLAS  AND  HIS  TUTOR  205 

(JEnter  Jo  Aw.) 

John.  A  card,  my  Lord.  The  gentleman  waits  in  the  eat- 
ing-room, and  wishes  to  see  your  Lordship  on  particular  busi- 
ness. (Grives  a  card.) 

Lord  Duberly.  Muster  Stedfast !  Never  heard  of  the  name. 
Curse  me,  my  lad,  tell  him  I'll  be  with  him  in  the  twinkling  of 
a  bedpost.  (Exit  John. ) 

Lady  Duberly.  I  shall  go  with  your  Lordship  through  the 
gallery  ;  for  I  must  dress  to  attend  Lady  Betty. 

Lord  Duberly.  Come  along,  then,  my  Lady.  Dick,  go  with 
the  tutorer ;  he'll  give  you  a  lesson  in  my  library.  Plenty  of 
larning  there,  I  promise  you.  I  was  at  it  all  of  a  row,  this 
here  very  morning.  There's  all .  Horace's  operas,1  Doctor ; 
and  such  a  sight  of  French  books !  But  I  see  by  the  backs  they 
are  all  written  by  Tom.2  Come  along,  my  Lady. 

(Exeunt  Lord  and  Lady  Duberly.) 

Pangloss.  On  what  subject,  Mr.  Dowlas,  shall  we  commence 
our  researches  this  evening? 

Dick.  Tell  'em  to  light  up  the  billiard  room ;  we'll  knock 
about  the  balls  a  little. 

Pangloss.  Knock  about  the  balls !  An  admirable  entrance 
upon  a  course  of  studies ! 

Dick.     Do  you  know  anything  of  the  game  ? 

Pangloss.     I  know  how  to  pocket,  young  gentleman. 

Dick.     So  do  most  tutors,  Doctor. 

Pangloss.  If  I  could  but  persuade  you  to  peep  into  a 
•classic  — 

Dick.  Peep !  Why,  you  prig  of  a  fellow,  don't  I  pay  you 
because  I  won't  peep?  Talk  of  this  again,  and  I'm  off  in  our 
contract. 


1  Opera  is  the  Latin  word  for  works,  which  Lord  Duberly  mistook  for  the 
English  operas. 

2  The  abbreviation  of  the  word  tome,  or  volume  —  mistaken  by  the  ignorant 
Lord  for  the  name  of  the  author. 


206  COLMAN   THE   YOUNGER 

Pangloss.     Are  you  ?     I'm  dumb  — 

"Mammon  leads  me  on." 

—  Milton.     Hem!     I  follow.  (Exeunt.} 

ACT  IV. 

SCENE  II.  —  The  street. 
(Enter  Dick  Dowlas  and  Dr.  Pangloss.} 

Dick.  It  don't  signify,  Doctor ;  I  can't  rest  till  I  have  seen 
Cicely. 

Pangloss.  What's  a  tutor's  power  over  a  pupil  in  love  ? 
Annihilated.  True,  though  trite,  that 

"  Omnia  vincit  amor."1 

—  Ovid.     Hem !     Is  she  pretty  ? 
Dick.     What's  that  to  you? 

Pangloss.  Nothing.  I'm  dead  to  the  fascinations  of  beauty 
since  that  unguarded  day  of  dalliance,  when,  being  full  of 

Bacchus  — 

"Bacchi  plenus."* 

—  Horace.    Hem  !  — my  pocket  was  picked  of  a  metal  watch,  at 
the  sign  of  the  Spectre,  in  Shoe-lane. 

Dick.  This  is  the  house;  I've  told  you  >my  story,  and  as 
you  value  my  three  hundred  pounds  a  year,  Doctor,  be  ready 
to  assist  me,  either  by  message  or  letter,  or  —  but  what  a 
d — d  gig  you  look  like. 

Pangloss.  A  gig!  Umph;  that's  an  Eton  phrase.  The 
Westminsters  call  it  vuiz. 

Dick.  And  you  are  the  greatest,  sure,  that  ever  was  dis- 
patched on  Love's  embassies  from  the  court  of  Cupid. 

1  Love  conquers  all  things. 

2  Full  of  Bacchus.    Bacchus,  the  god  of  wine,  is  used  by  metonymy  for  wine 
itself. 


DICK  DOWLAS  AND  HIS   TUTOR  207 

Pangloss.  I'm  not  proud  of  the  post.  Take  my  counsel  and 
drop  the  pursuit.  Refrain  !  Desist ! 

"  Desine  !  " 1 

—  Terence.     Hem ! 

Dick.  Why,  look  ye,  Doctor ;  I've  done  an  injury  to  two 
worthy  souls,  and  I  can't  rest  till  I  have  made  reparation. 
We  are  all  of  us  wrong  at  times,  Doctor ;  but  a  man  doubles 
his  ill  conduct  when  he  is  too  proud  to  make  an  apology 
for  it. 

Pangloss.     Yes,  confessing  our  faults,  Mr.  Dowlas  — 

Dick.  It's  only  saying,  in  other  words,  Doctor,  that  we  are 
wiser  to-day  than  we  were  yesterday. 

Pangloss.  Swift.  Hem  !  Plenty  of  precedents,  however,  for 
your  conduct. 

"  At  lover's  perjuries,  they  say  —  " 

Dick.     Well,  what  do  they  say? 
Pangloss. 

"  They  say  Jove  laughs." 

—  Shakspeare.     Hem !    Phaon  left  Sappho ;  Theseus,  Ariadne ; 
Demophob'n,  Phylis ;  ^Eneas,  Dido,  — 

Dick.     Oh,  d— n  Dido ! 

Pangloss.  D — n  Dido  !  Well,  d — n  Dido,  with  all  my  heart. 
She  was  the  daughter  to  King  Belus,  of  Tyre ;  but  as  very  a 
virago  — 

Dick.  Well,  we  need  not  go  far  for  examples.  Now,  knock 
at  that  door. 

Pangloss.     Double  ? 

Dick.  Zounds !  no ;  you'll  spoil  all.  A  sneaking,  single 
tap,  like  a  dun,  Doctor. 

Pangloss.  Like  a  dun?  I  know  the  knock  well,  Mr. 
Dowlas. 

Dick.  And  when  'tis  given,  get  out  of  the  way  for  a 
while. 

1  Desist. 


208 

Pangloss.  My  constant  custom,  on  such  an  occasion. 
(Knocks  at  the  door.)  There's  the  thorough  thump  of  a 
creditor. 

"  I  never  heard  it  but  I  ran  away 
Upon  instinct." 

—  Shakspeare.     Hem  !  (Exit. ) 

(Enter  Cicely  at  the  door.     Dick  is  with  his  back  towards  her.) 

Cicely.  Dear  !  Sure,  somebody  knocked.  I  see  nobody  but 
that  gentleman,  neither.  It  could  not  be  he,  for  if  footmen 
thump  so  loud,  for  certain  your  gentlefolks  must  always  beat 
the  door  down.  Was  it  you  that  knocked,  pray,  Sir  ?  (Dick 
turns  round,  and  Cicely  screams.')  Don't  come  near  me  ! 

Dick.     My  dear  Cicely,  I  — 

Cicely.     Oh,  Dick  !  Dick!     (Cries  and  falls  into  his  arms.) 

Dick.  I  cannot  bear  this.  Your  tears  go  to  my  very  soul, 
Cicely. 

Cicely.  'Tis  you  have  been  the  cause  of  them.  You  have 
almost  cut  my  poor  heart  in  two. 

Dick.     My  own  suffers  for  it  sufficiently,  believe  me. 

Cicely.  How  could  you  be  so  barbarous  to  me?  But,  in- 
deed, indeed  I  forgive  you.  Your  cruelty  will  cost  me  many  a 
tear ;  but  this  is  the  last  time  I  shall  ever  upbraid  you. 

Dick.     Oh,  I  deserve  all  your  reproaches. 

Cicely.  If  I  had  come  to  fortune  and  you  had  been  poor, 
Dick,  I  would  have  flown  to  you  and  cheered  you  in  your 
poverty.  I  would  have  poured  my  gold  at  your  feet.  I 
would  have  shared  all  my  joys  with  you,  and  told  you  that 
riches  could  never  change  my  heart. 

Dick.  And  I  come  now  to  share  all  mine  with  you, 
Cicely. 

Cicely.  Oh,  no,  Dick  !  My  lot  is  very  humble,  but  I  scorn 
the  gold  that  would  buy  my  honesty.  We  must  never  meet 
more  ;  but  indeed,  indeed,  I  do  truly  wish  you  to  be  prosperous, 
though  you  sought  my  ruin.  Bless  you,  Dick !  And  if  ever 


DICK  DOWLAS  AND  HIS   TUTOR  209 

poor  Cicely  comes  into  your  mind,  think  that  she  prays  to 
Heaven  to  forgive  you  for  trying  to  harm  her  innocence, 
whose  greatest  blessing  would  have  been  to  make  you  happy. 


Dick.  Stay  —  stay  and  hear  me,  I  entreat  you  !  I  come  to 
sue  for  pardon,  I  come  in  repentance,  Cicely. 

Cicely.     And  do  you  repent? 

Dick.     I  do,  most  earnestly. 

Cicely  .  That  is  some  comfort  to  me,  for  your  own  heart 
will  be  easier  and  I  shall  bear  my  hard  lot  better,  now  ;  for  I 
know  your  great  friends  will  never  let  you  stoop  to  one  in  my 
station.  Ah,  times  are  much  changed  with  us,  Dick  ! 

Dick.  However  changed,  they  shall  not  now  alter  my  pur- 
pose, Cicely.  I  have  been  dazzled,  and  I  have  wounded  you. 
I  have  covered  myself,  too,  with  shame  and  confusion  ;  but  if 
they  can  make  atonement,  my  fortunes,  my  heart,  and  my  hand 
are  all  at  your  service. 

Cicely.  Your  hand  !  I  —  I  shall  be  able  to  speak  more, 
soon.  Oh,  Dick  ! 

Dick.  My  dear,  dear  Cicely  !  I  rose  strangely  to  rank, 
and  I  shall  now,  perhaps,  in  the  eyes  of  the  great  world, 
strangely  support  it  !  For  I  am  afraid,  Cis,  that  half  your 
young  fellows  of  fashion  would  rather  seem  wicked  than 
ridiculous  ;  but  I  shall  never,  for  the  future,  think  that  marry- 
ing a  worthy  woman  whom  chance  has  placed  beneath  us  in 
life  can  be  any  disgrace,  while  seducing  her  is  reckoned,  among 
profligate  fops,  a  matter  of  triumph.  Dry  your  tears,  Cicely  ! 

Cicely.  These  are  not  like  the  tears  I  shed  a  while  ago. 
They  are  tears  of  joy,  Dick  !  {Bell  rings.}  Hark  !  I  am 
called. 

Dick.     One  moment  !     Tell  me  you  forgive  me. 

Cicely.  Forgive  you  ?  Oh,  Dick  !  You  have  made  me 
happy.  How  this  will  comfort  my  poor  Zekiel  ! 

Dick.     I  shall  be  ashamed  to  meet  him  again,  Cicely. 

Cicely.  Oh  !  I  will  tell  him  all  ;  and  —  {Bell  ring*  again.} 
Hark  !  I  am  called  again. 

8CH.  IN  COM.  —  14 


210  COLMAN   THE  YOUNGER 

Dick.     Adieu  !     I  will  see  you  very,  very  soon.     Farewell. 

Cicely.     Good-by,  and  — 

Dick.  One  kiss,  and  —  good-by  !  (Exit  Cicely.}  That 
one  kiss  of  lovely  virtue  is  worth  a  million  times  more  than 
all  the  blandishments  that  wealth  and  luxury  can  purchase. 
Where  the  D — 1,  now,  is  the  Doctor  ?  I  ana  brimful  of  joy,  and 
I  have  nobody  to  communicate  my  — 

(Reenter  Dr.  Pangloss.} 

Oh  !  you  are  returned.     Embrace  me,  Doctor  ! 

Pangloss.     Embrace  you  ! 

Dick.  Open  wide  thy  arms,  in  friendly  congratulation,  and 
embrace,  you  prig  of  a  tutor,  the  happiest  fellow  in  Christen- 
dom !  (They  embrace.} 

Pang  loss.  Bless  me  !  Why,  we're  in  the  middle  of  the 
street.  Decorum,  Mr.  Dowlas  — 

Dick.     Decorum  !     I'm  out  of  my  senses. 

Pangloss.  Heaven  forbid !  For  it  would  be  as  clear  a  nine 
hundred  pounds  a  year  out  of  my  pocket,  as  ever  man  lost  in 
his  life.  (Aside.*)  What's  the  news? 

Dick.     The  news  ?     Why,  that  I'm  going  to  be  married. 

Pangloss.    Married !    Mercy  on  me  !    Then  he  is  mad,  indeed. 

"  Tribus  Anticyris  caput  insanabile." 1 

—  Horace.     Hem  !     Consider  the  — 

Dick.  Pshaw  !  I  have  no  time  to  —  Come,  come  with  me 
to  my  father's.  I'll  explain  all  to  him,  and  — 

Pangloss.     Only  reflect  on  — 

Dick.  Reflect  !  Look  ye,  you  grave  mustard-pot  of  a  phi- 
losopher !  You  shall  dance  a  jig  down  the  street  with  me,  to 
show  your  sympathy  in  my  happiness. 

Pangloss.  A  Doctor  of  Laws  dance  a  jig,  in  the  open  street, 
at  noonday ! 

1  A  head  incurable  by  the  three  Anticyras.  (Anticyra,  in  ancient  times, 
supplied  the  hellebore  which  was  used  as  a  cure  for  madness.) 


DICK  DOWLAS  AND  HIS   TUTOR  211 

Dick.     Foot  it.     "  Over  the  hills  and  far  away."     (Singing. ) 
Pangloss.     I  wish  I  were  far  away,  with  all  my  heart. 
Dick.     Dance  —  dance,  or  I  cut  off  your  three  hundred  a 
year  in  a  twinkling. 

Panyloss.     Will  you  ?    Oh,  then  — 

" A  flourish  of  trumpets" 
—  Shakspeare.     Hem !    "  Over  the  hills  and  far  away !  " 

ACT  V. 

SCENE  II.  — An  apartment  in  Lord  Duberly' s  house. 
(Enter  Lord  and  Lady  Duberly.*) 

Lord  Duberly.     But  listen,  my  Lady,  to  reason. 

Lady  Duberly.     Then  I  mustn't  listen  to  you,  my  Lord. 

Lord  Duberly.  Um!  why,  I've  been  almost  scared  out  of 
my  seven  senses.  The  old  madman  who  was  here  last  night 
rushed  in,  with  another  young  one  with  him,  this  morning.  I 
can't  make  head  nor  tail  of  what  he  wants,  for  my  part.  But 
as  to  Dick,  my  Lady,  he'll  certainly  break  his  heart  if  he 
doesn't  marry  this  here  wench. 

Lady  Duberly.  I  wonder,  my  Lord,  you  can  think  of  such  a 
thing !  A  Peer's  son  marry  a  maidservant  ? 

Lord  Duberly.  Odd  rabbit,  my  Lady,  don't  be  so  obstropu- 
lous.  You  know  when  his  father  married  you,  you  was  but  a 
clearstarcher. 

Lady  Duberly.  That's  quite  another  sort  of  an  affair;  and 
you  might  have  more  manners  than  to  mention  it  now.  But 
as  to  learning  you  elegance  —  ah,  we  may  lead  the  horse  to 
the  water,  my  Lord,  but  there's  no  making  him  drink. 

Lord  Duberly.  Nay,  I'm  sure,  my  Lady,  I  didn't  mean  no 
disparagement  tq  you ;  for  you  was  counted  on  all  hands  the 
best  getter  up  of  small  linen  in  our  town.  Here's  the  Doctor. 
Let's  ax  his  advice  in  this  here  business. 

(JEnter  Dr.  Pangloss.') 

Pray,  now,  Doctor  —  you  must  know  we're  in  a  bit  of  a 
quandary,  Doctor. 


212  COLMAN  THE   YOUNGER 

Pangloss.     Your  Lordship  had  better  be  in  an  uncertainty. 

Lord  Duberly.  Why,  Lord  love  you,  so  I  am,  mum.  Pray, 
didn't  you  never  hear  of  no  great  man  as  was  married  to  a 
farmer's  daughter? 

Pangloss.     Walter,  a  Marquis  of  Lombardy. 

Lord  Duberly.  There,  my  Lady,  —  the  Marquis  of  Lom- 
bardy !  That's  the  place  where  all  the  poplars  come  from. 
He's  a  tiptop,  I  war'n't  him.  Mayhap  you  may  have  lit  on 
him  in  your  visits,  my  Lady? 

Lady  Duberly.     Frequently. 

Pangloss. 

"  'Tis  false." 

—  Rowe.     Hem!     (Aside.*) 

Lady  Duberly.  But  you  have  heard  nothing  yet  of  the  high 
tone,  my  Lord. 

Lord  Duberly.  High  tone  !  Rot  it,  I  have  nothing  else  but 
the  high  tone  when  you're  in  the  house,  my  Lady.  And  who 
did  he  marry,  Doctor  ? 

Pangloss.  Grizzle;  a  perfect  pattern  of  patience,  daughter 
to  his  tenant,  Jacolina;  and  — 

"  This  Markis  hath  here  spoused  with  a  ring." 

—  Chaucer.     Hem ! 

Lord  Duberly.  There,  my  Lady !  What  do  you  think  of 
that?  D — n  it,  if  the  Marquis  spoused  Grizzle,  Dick  may 
marry  the  maidservant. 

Pangloss.     My  pupil !     Zounds,  my  salary ! 

"  Tremor  occupat  arlus."  1 
-Vergil.    Hem!    My  income  totters.     (Aside.} 

Lord  Duberly.  And  in  that  there  case,  Doctor,  your  three 
hundred  a  year  must  go  to  the  mending  of  my  cakelology. 

Pangloss.  Yes,  but  I  shall  lose  —  no,  nothing;  a  lapsus 
linguae.2  One  annuity  gone  with  my  pupil !  Then  I've  only  — 

—  "  clear 
For  life,  six  hundred  — 

*  A  tremor  seizes  my  joints.  2  Slip  of  the  tongue. 


DICK  DOWLAS  AND  HIS  TUTOR  213 

Lady  Duberly.     Doctor  — 

Pangloss. 

" — pounds  a  year." 

-Swift.     Hem!     Madam? 

Lady  Duberly  (apart  to  Pangloss).     You  know,  Doctor,  my 
three  hundred  stops  the  moment  my  son  marries. 
Pangloss.     What,  stop  your  three  — 

"  Thrice  the  brinded  cat  has  mewed." 
—  Shakspeare.     Hem  !    Here  he  comes. 

(Enter  Dick  Dowlas.} 

Dick.     Well,  Father,  has  my  mother  made  up  her  mind  ? 

Lord  Duberly.  Why,  I  can't  tell,  Dick.  My  Lady  seems 
betwixt-and-betweenish,  as  a  body  may  say.  But,  it  all  de- 
pends upon  her  vardic.  (Dick  takes  Ms  mother  apart.} 

Pangloss.  Does  it !  Oh,  Jupiter  !  If  ever  contradiction  crept 
into  the  bosom  of  beauteous  woman  — 

"  Mulier  formosa" l 

-  Horace.  Hem  !  Stuff  a  double  dose  into  that  terrible  old 
woman,  and  save  the  fortunes  of  Peter  Pangloss. 

Lady  Duberly.  Well,  she  is  only  a  farmer's  daughter,  they 
say.  And  what's  a  farmer,  my  dear? 

Dick.  Why,  an  English  farmer,  Mother,  is  one  who  sup- 
ports his  family  and  serves  his  country,  by  his  own  industry. 
In  this  land  of  commerce,  Mother,  such  a  character  will  be 
always  respectable. 

Lord  Duberly.  That's  right,  Dick.  Father's  own  son,  to  a 
hair.  When  I  kept  my  shop  at  Gosport,  I  — 

Lady  Duberly.  Hush,  my  Lord.  Well,  you  —  you  were 
always  my  darling,  you  know,  Dick  ;  and  I  can't  find  in  my 
heart  to  give  you  a  denial. 

1  Beautiful  woman. 


214  COLMAN   THE  YOUNGER 

Pangloss.  Can't  you !  I  wish  you  could  find  it  in  your 
tongue.  Six  hundred  a  year  blown  away  by  the  breath  of  that 
Sibyl.1  (Aside.) 

Dick.     That's  my  good  Mother  !     You've  made  me  so  happy  ! 

—  I  —     Zounds  !  I  shall  run  mad ! 
Pan ff loss.     Zounds  !     And  so  shall  I. 

Dick.  A  thousand  thanks,  my  dear  Mother,  and  my  dear 
Father,  too !  I'll  get  as  drunk  to-night  as  —  Wish  me  joy, 
Doctor  ;  wish  me  joy,  wish  me  joy  a  hundred  times. 

Pangloss.  A  hundred  times  !  I  feel,  Mr.  Dowlas,  on  this 
occasion,  six  hundred  times  more  than  I  know  how  to  express. 

Dick.  And  if  you  would  but  indulge'  me  now,  in  letting  me 
conduct  you  to  Cicely  — 

Lord  Duberly.  Odd  rod  it,  my  Lady,  let's  humor  Dick  for 
once.  The  young  ones  loves  to  be  cooing  and  building,  you 
know. 

Lady  Duberly.  Why,  the  coach,  I  believe,  is  at  the  door,  my 
Lord. 

Lord  Duberly.  Is  it  ?  'Sbobs  then,  my  Lady,  let's  bundle  — 
Dick  !  Come,  Doctor !  Now  you  mustn't  ride  me  backwards, 
my  Lady,  for  you  know  I  ha'n't  been  used  to  a  coach,  and  I 
shall  certainly  be  qualmish  if  you  do.  Come,  my  Lady. 

(Exeunt  Lord  and  Lady  Duberly.) 

Dick.     Come,  Doctor,  we  lose  time. 

Pangloss.  Time  ?  Lose  ?  I've  lost  as  pretty  a  pair  of  snug 
annuities  as  —  •  Let  me  see  — 

Take  six  from  nine,  — 

Dick.     Why,  Doctor? 

Pangloss. 

"  —  and  three  remains.' 

—  Cocker.     Hem  1 

Dick.     Come,  come  —  'tis  late. 
Pangloss.     Only  three. 

1  A  prophetess. 


DICK  DOWLAS  AND  UIS   TUTOR  215 

Dick.  Only  three !  "Why,  'tis  only  twelve,  man.  But 
come  —  If  you  don't  attend  to  my  father  better,  I  can  toll  you, 
he'll  kick  you  and  your  three  hundred  a  year  to  the  D — 1. 

Pangloss.     Will  he  ? 

"  O !  for  a  horse  with  wings  !  " 
— Shakspeare.     Hem !     I  fly,  Mr.  Dowlas. 


MARIA   EDGEWORTH 

IN  the  early  years  of  the  century  now  closing,  a  female  novelist  amazed 
and  delighted  British  readers,  and  rose  to  the  first  rank  of  writers  of  Eng- 
lish fiction.  Sir  Walter  Scott  avowed  that  when  he  began  to  write  in  prose 
he  was  actuated  by  a  desire  to  emulate  her.  Sir  James  Mackintosh  declared 
that  she  had  selected  a  class  of  virtues  most  difficult  of  all  to  treat  as  sub- 
jects of  fiction,  and  that  she  had  thus  performed  what  all  preceding  writers 
had  left  for  her  to  do.  Lord  Macaulay  was  moved  to  say  that  a  scene  in 
her  best  work,  The  Absentee,  was  the  best  since  the  beginning  of  Book 
XXII.  of  the  Odyssey  of  Homer  was  written. 

Maria  Edgeworth,  in  whose  praise  all  English  critics  seem  to  have  united, 
was  a  woman  of  genius,  and  wrote  with  a  lofty  purpose.  She  has  come 
to  be  known  now  chiefly  as  a  writer  of  juvenile  works,  and  her  novels  are 
less  read  than  formerly,  but  she  has  not  lost  the  favor  of  the  British  public. 
She  is  remembered  with  admiration  and  gratitude  as  a  writer  of  high  merit, 
deserving  a  place  among  those  whose  works  will  be  read  for  ages  to  come. 

She  was  born  in  Oxfordshire,  England,  where  her  parents  were  tempo- 
rarily residing.  In  her  early  infancy,  her  family  removed  to  their  estate  in 
Ireland,  in  a  village  known  as  Edgeworthtown.  Unlike  many  Irish  land- 
holders who  abandoned  their  estates  to  tenants  in  order  to  indulge  in  the 
fashionable  frivolities  and  dissipations  of  the  British  metropolis,  the  Edge- 
worths  preferred  the  retirement  of  village  life,  and  lived  in  enviable  hap- 
piness at  home.  Maria's  father  was  a  scholar,  and  a  writer  of  respectable 
ability.  It  was  her  happiness  to  assist  him  in  his  literary  labors.  Her  own 
career  opened  with  the  beginning  of  the  present  century.  A  witty  Essay 
on  Irish  Bulls  was  a  joint  production  of  father  and  daughter. 

Castle  Rackrent  won  for  its  fair  author  an  immediate  recognition  in  the 
literary  world.  It  was  "  the  precursor  of  a  copious  series  of  tales,  —  national, 
moral,  and  fashionable,  —  which  at  once  placed  her  in  the  first  class  of 
novelists,  as  a  shrewd  observer  of  manners,  a  warm-hearted  observer  of 
national  humor,  and  a  resolute  upholder  of  good  morals  in  fiction." 

In  1804,  when  she  was  thirty-seven  years  of  age,  were  published  three 
volumes  of  Popular  Tales  of  her  composition.  Two  years  later  appeared 
Leonora,  a  novel  in  two  volumes.  Five  years  afterward  she  gave  to  the 
public  three  of  her  six  volumes  of  Fashionable  Tales.  The  Absentee  was  one 

216 


MARIA  EDGEWORTH  217 

of  these.  It  depicted  the  folly  of  those  who  passed  their  days  away  from 
their  estates,  in  the  hollow,  vain,  and  giddy  society  of  fashionable  London. 
Patronage,  published  in  1814,  contrasted  the  wretched  sycophancy  of  those 
who  waited  upon  the  capricious  favor  of  the  great,  with  the  manly  virtues 
of  independence  and  self-reliance. 

Having  struck  at  two  of  the  greatest  evils  of  Irish  society,  this  undaunted 
friend  of  the  people  wrote,  in  1817,  a  novel  entitled  Harrington',  in  which 
she  strove  to  mitigate  the  unreasoning  English  prejudice  against  the  Jews. 

Miss  Edgeworth's  father  died  in  the  same  year,  and  his  loss  was  to  her 
irreparable.  With  filial  love  she  prepared  a  memoir  of  his  life. 

From  this  time  forth  she  dovoted  her  rare  powers  to  the  entertainment 
and  the  moral  instruction  of  children,  in  a  series  of  juvenile  works  of  re- 
markable beauty  and  power.  Among  these  were  Rosamond,  Harry  and  Lucy, 
The  Parent's  Assistant,  Moral  Tales,  and  Helen.  These  remain  as  classics  in 
the  libraries  of  the  young.  Generations  of  children  have  found  in  them  the 
highest  inspiration  of  truth  and  virtue. 

Miss  Edgeworth's  influence  for  good  affected  all  classes  of  people.  Land- 
lords and  tenants  of  "  Rackrent "  estates,  dispensers  and  receivers  of  fickle 
"  patronage,"  vain,  sordid,  and  foolish  "  absentees,"  Jew-haters,  selfish  and 
intractable  children,  teachers  and  parents  — good  and  bad,  — all  came  into 
the  sphere  of  her  influence.  The  good  in  society  was  strengthened  by  her 
work,  and  the  evil  was  shamed  and  disconcerted. 

The  Dame  School 1  Holiday  is  a  light  drama  illustrative  of  Miss  Edge- 
worth's  skill  in  delineation,  and  of  her  moral  power.  It  appeals  to  the 
hearts  of  teachers  and  of  pupils,  and  its  influence  lingers  with  the  reader. 
Like  the  most  of  Miss  Edgeworth's  writings,  it  contains  beautiful  pictures 
of  village  life,  contrasted  with  the  ambitious  but  unsatisfactory  life  of  the 
votaries  of  wealth  and  fashion  in  a  great  city ;  the  pure  joy  of  innocent  and 
loving  hearts,  with  the  vain  pursuit  of  happiness  by  the  selfish  and  proud. 
To  most  readers  of  this  book,  —  even  to  many  readers  and  professed  ad- 
mirers of  Miss  Edgeworth,  —  this  drama  will  be  new ;  for  it  has  not  appeared 
in  the  later  collections  of  her  works.  There  are  few  teachers  who  would 
willingly  suffer  a  work  of  its  moral  force  — however  light  its  form  —  to  drop 
out  of  existence.  Clearly,  its  mission  is  not  yet  accomplished,  nor  is  it  likely 
soon  to  be ;  for  few,  indeed,  are  the  authors  competent  to  replace  it  with  a 
more  modern  picture  of  school  life  in  which  its  lessons  shall  be  imparted  with 
equal  force  and  skill.  Moreover,  the  well-drawn  pictures  which  we  possess 
of  the  schools  and  schooldames  of  old  days  are  not  so  numerous  that  we  can 
afford  to  lose  any  of  them  from  the  gallery  of  literature. 

1  A  dame  school  was  a  school  taught  by  a  "schooldame,"  or  schoolmistress. 
A  beautiful  picture  of  a  dame  school  is  to  be 'found  in  Shenstone's  poem,  The 
Schoolmistress,  which  is  contained  in  Tlir  S'-JtooImaster  in  Literature. 


218  MARIA   EDGEWORTH 

THE  DAME   SCHOOL  HOLIDAY 

(From  Harry  and  Lucy) 
DRAMATIS  PERSONS 

DAME,  an  old  village  schoolmistress. 

Miss  BABBERLY. 

JENNY  PARROT,  her  maid. 

ROSE, 


MARY, 
HANNAH, 

NANCY, 
WILLY, 
CHERRY, 
EDWIN, 


Children  at  the  Dame's  School. 


Children  of  the  Village  Clergyman. 


PHILIP, 

FELIX,  brother  of  Miss  Babberly. 

A  PEDDLER. 

ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.  — A  new-mown  field. 

(JEnter  Cherry  and  Philip,  carrying  a  large  basket  of  green 
boughs  and  flowers.} 

Cherry.  Here,  Philip,  let  us  sit  down  here,  for  I  am  quite 
tired. 

Philip.  Tired  !  But  you  must  not  be  tired,  Cherry ;  con- 
sider that  this  is  my  father's  birthday,  and  we  have  a  great, 
great  deal  to  do  to  make  his  room  into  a  bower  with  these 
green  branches  and  honeysuckles.  Oh,  it  will  be  beautiful, 
with  roses  here  and  there,  in  garlands  ;  and  then  we  must 
make  nosegays  for  Papa  and  Mamma  and  Aunts,  and  have  a 
green  bough  for  every  house  in  the  village.  Oh,  Cherry, 
indeed  you  must  not  say  you  are  tired. 

Cherry.  Well,  I  will  not;  but  I  may  say  I  am  hot,  may  I 
not? 

Philip.  Hot,  are  you  ?.  Well,  so  am  I,  I  must  confess,  hot 
enough,  if  that's  all;  but  push  your  hat  back,  as  I  do.  Off 


THE  DAME  SCHOOL  HOLIDAY  219 

with  this  frillikin  ruff  that  you  have  about  your  neck.  There, 
now,  sit  down  comfortably,  and  I  will  fan  you  with  this  great 
fan — (fans  her  with  a  green  bough}.  Isn't  that  pleasant, 
Cherry  ? 

Cherry.  Very  pleasant,  only  I  think  it  makes  me  hotter 
afterward;  besides,  it  must  make  you  all  the  time  so  very  hot 
doing  it.  Now,  Philip,  let  us  make  our  nosegays  ;  that  will 
cool  us  best.  Here,  this  moss  rose  bud  I'll  have  for  Mamma. 

Philip.     But  it  is  not  her  birthday. 

Cherry.  But  she  may  have  a  rose  for  all  that,  mayn't 
she  ?  Here,  Philip,  is  a  beautiful  blush  rose  for  Papa. 

Philip.  Mamma  should  have  the  blush  rose,  because  she  is 
a  woman,  and  blushes.  But  I  will  tell  you  what,  Cherry,  it 
will  not  be  right  to  give  Papa  a  red,  and  Mamma  a  white  rose. 

Cherry.     Why  ? 

Philip.     Because  it  would  seem  as  if  they  had  quarreled. 

Cherry  (laughing}.     Quarreled? 

Philip  (gravely}.  I  assure  you  it  is  no  laughing  matter,  as 
you  would  know  if  you  had  read  the  history  of  England,  as  I 
have.  A  great  while  ago,  in  the  dark  ages,  the  Houses  of 
York  and  Lancaster  —  but  you  are  not  old  enough  to  under- 
stand me. 

Cherry.  But  I  know  what  I  am  old  enough  to  understand, 
and  something  that  you  don't  know,  Philip. 

Philip.    What? 

Cherry.     Oh,  that  is  a  secret. 

Philip.     A  secret !    And  you  will  not  tell  it  to  Philip  I 

Cherry.  No,  not  to  Philip,  or  anybody ;  for  I  was  desired 
not. 

Philip.     By  whom  ? 

Cherry.  Oh,  by  somebody ;  but  that's  a  secret  too,  and  I 
have  promised  not  to  tell  till  the  time  comes,  and  the  time  will 
come  this  evening,  this  very  evening  —  after  dinner  —  after 
tea,  you  will  see !  You  will  be  very  much  surprised,  and  you 
will  be  very  happy,  and  you  will  then  know  all. 

Philip.     I  know  all  now,  Cherry. 


220  MARIA  EDGE  WORTH 

Cherry.  Oh,  no,  indeed,  Philip,  you  do  not  know  about 
Edwin. 

Philip.     Yes,  but  I  do. 

Cherry.     And  about  the  play  ? 

Philip.     Oh,  hush  !     Take  care  —  you  promised  not  to  tell. 

Cherry.     But  since  you  know  it  — 

Philip.     But  how  do  you  know  that  I  know  it  ? 

Cherry.     My  dear  !    Did  not  you  say  so  ? 

Philip.  But  you  might  tell  me  by  accident  more  than  I 
know ;  and  I  should  be  very  sorry  for  that,  because  it  would 
not  be  right. 

Cherry.  Then  the  best  way  is  for  you  to  tell  me,  Philip,  all 
that  you  know. 

Philip.  All  that  I  know  is,  that  my  brother  Edwin  has 
written  a  little  play  for  my  father's  birthday. 

Cherry.     Ah !    But  I  know  the  name. 

Philip.     So  do  I. 

Cherry.     What  is  it  ? 

(Enter  Felix.') 

Philip.  Oh !  here's  Felix  come  home  at  last.  How  do  you 
do,  Felix  ? 

Cherry.     How  do  you  do,  Felix  ? 

Felix.     Felix  !     Mr.  Felix,  I  think  you  might  say,  Children. 

Cherry.  You  have  grown  very  tall,  indeed,  since  you  have 
been  in  London ;  you  are  quite  a  grown-up  person  now,  I 
think. 

Felix.     A  grown-up  person  !  Yes,  to  be  sure  I  am,  Little-one. 

Philip.  But  he  is  not  so  tall  as  our  brother  Edwin,  though 
—  are  you,  Felix  ? 

Felix.  How  can  I  tell?  I  have  not  measured  myself  since  I 
came  from  Lon'on. 

Philip.  Come,  come,  then,  and  see  Edwin  directly ;  he  will 
be  so  glad  to  see  you  ! 

Cherry.     And  then  you  can  measure  yourself  with  him,  too. 

Felix.     I  have  no  desire  to  measure  myself  with  him,  I  can 


THE  DAME  SCHOOL  HOLIDAY  221 

assure  you.  To  be  in  such  a  hurry  to  measure  one's  self  is  so 
childish. 

Philip.  Well,  but  it  is  not  childish  to  be  in  a  hurry  to  see 
one's  friends,  is  it  ? 

Felix.     That  depends  upon  what  sort  of  friends  they  are. 

Philip.  Sort  of  friends  !  What  do  you  mean  ?  I  know  but 
one  sort  of  friends  —  good  friends. 

Felix.  But  I  know  several  sorts  of  friends ;  and  so  will  you 
when  you  have  been  in  Lon'on.1  For  instance,  there  are  town 
friends  and  country  friends. 

Cherry.  And  country  mice  and  city  mice.  Do  you  remem- 
ber that  fable,  Felix  ? 

Felix.  Not  I ;  I  have  so  many  other  things  in  my  head  now, 
I  have  no  room  for  fables,  I  promise  you. 

Philip.     Cherry,  let  us  go  on  with  our  business. 

Felix.  And  what  is  your  mighty  business,  pray  ?  What's  all 
this  trumpery? 

Cherry.  Trumpery  !  Oh  !  Felix,  don't  kick  my  nosegays ; 
they  are  for  my  father  and  mother,  and  this  is  Father's 
birthday. 

Felix.     What  is  your  father's  birthday  to  me  ? 

Cherry.  Nothing,  perhaps ;  but  do,  pray,  then,  if  you 
ple-a-se,  stand  a  little  farther  off. 

Felix.     I  won't  stir. 

Philip  (pushing^).  You  shall  though! — for  you  have  no 
right  to  trample  on  my  sister's  nosegays. 

Felix.     Don't  push  me,  or  I'll  make  you  repent. 

Philip.  You  cannot  make  me  repent  it,  for  I  know  it  is  right 
to  defend  my  sister  when  she  is  trampled  upon  ;  and  if  you  had 
been  in  London  a  hundred  times,  and  a  hundred  million  of 
times,  you  could  not  make  me  believe  it  to  be  wrong.  And 
if  you  beat  me  to  a  jelly,  you  could  never  make  me  repent 
of  it. 

Cherry  (putting  herself  between  them).     Oh!  don't  quarrel, 

1  For  the  pronunciation  of  London  which  Felix  affects,  see  note,  p.  124. 


222  MARIA   EDGEWOBTH 

don't  fight.  Felix,  here's  a  rose  for  you.  Philip,  he  did  not 
mean  to  do  me  any  harm,  I'm  sure.  Come,  we  had  better  go 
home  and  dress  up  my  father's  room.  Come,  dear  Philip, 
help  to  carry  this  great  basket ;  you  see  I  cannot  carry  it  by 
myself,  and  we  shall  be  late,  indeed  we  shall. 

Philip.  Well,  I'll  go  with  you,  Cherry;  but  mind,  I  don't 
run  —  at  least  I  don't  run  away  from  you,  Mr.  Felix.  You  may 
come  after  me  and  beat  me  if  you  like  it  —  and  if  you  can. 

(Exeunt  Cherry  and  Philip.} 

Felix.  Can  !  You  pigmy,  you  are  beneath  my  notice.  What 
a  little  savage  it  is  !  I  expected  to  be  treated  with  rather  more 
respect  at  my  return  to  the  country ;  but  these  children  have 
no  manners.  How  should  they,  indeed  !  And  they  don't  know 
the  difference  between  one  person  and  another.  They  did  not 
even  take  notice  of  my  new  coat. 

(Enter  Edwin.} 

» 

Edwin.  Fe  —  (aside)  no,  it  cannot  be  Felix.  I  beg  your 
pardon,  sir,  but  I  took  you  for  a  friend  of  mine. 

Felix.     Very  likely,  Sir. 

Edwin.     It  is  Felix  !     I  cannot  be,  mistaken  in  his  voice. 

Felix.     Really,  that's  odd. 

Edwin.  Come,  come,  Felix,  shake  hands,  and  don't  play 
the  fool.  I  am  sure  you  must  know  me. 

Felix.     Can't  you  imagine  it  possible  to  forget  you  ? 

Edwin.  Not  possible  for  a  friend.  What !  Forget  your  old 
playfellow,  Edwin?  Oh,  you  are  only  joking;  you  want  to  see 
how  I  shall  take  it. 

Felix.  You  don't  take  me,  I  find.  Did  you  never  hear  of 
cutting  a  man,  of  dropping  a  fellow,  of  shirking  a  bore  ? 

Edwin.     Shirking  a  bore  ! 

Felix.  You  don't  seem  to  see  what  I  would  be  at ;  in  plain 
English,  you  do  not  understand  me. 

Edwin.  No,  indeed,  I  do  not ;  but  shake  hands,  at  any 
rate. 


THE  DAME  SCHOOL  HOLIDAY  223 

Felix.  Don't  shake  my  arm  off,  like  a  country  clown. 
Look,  this  is  the  way  to  shake  hands  genteelly  —  "  I  am  very 
glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Edwin  Spencer  —  d'y'do,  d'y'do?  Hope 
I  have  the  pleasure  to  see  you  in  good  health  ?  And  all  your 
house,  I  hope,  'scaped  the  influenza  ?  Do  me  the  honor  to 
remember  my  compliments  to  them  ;  and  do  me  the  favor  to 
tell  me  where  you  are,  that  I  may  leave  my  card  the  first  oppor- 
tunity." Then  bow  or  nod  your  head  so,  and  pass  on  directly. 
That's  the  thing. 

Edwin.  You  are  not  serious  ?  This  is  just  like  characters 
I  have  read  of  in  plays.  Well,  I  must  pass  ow,  as  you  call  it, 
now,  for  I  really  am  in  a  great  hurry. 

Felix.    In  a  hurry  in  the  country?    What  can  you  have  to  do? 

Edwin.     That's  a  secret. 

Felix.  A  secret  worth  knowing,  hey  ?  But  you  don't  under- 
stand me.  Secrets  Worth  Knowing  is  the  title  of  a  play  I  saw 
when  I  was  in  Lon'on. 

Edwin.  Would  you  like  to  see  a  play  to-riight  ?  No,  —  you 
would  rather,  I  dare  say,  stay  at  home  with  your  own  father 
and  mother,  now  you  are  just  come  back  to  them. 

Felix.  As  to  that,  I  don't  care  ;  but  what  sort  of  a  play,  I 
wonder,  can  you  possibly  get  up  in  this  place  ;  and  what  sort 
of  a  theater  can  you  have  ?  Where  on  earth  do  you  act  ? 

Edwin.  At  the  bowling  green.  You  must  not  expect  fine 
things.  But  as  it  is  summer  time,  the  audience  can  all  sit  out 
of  doors  ;  and  we  have  carried  the  benches  from  the  school- 
house  —  dear,  good  Dame  Deborah  lent  them  to  us  ;  and  she 
has  worked  so  hard  to  make  our  dresses  for  us  !  And  Mr. 
Hampden  has  lent  us  not  only  the  bowling  green,  but  the  two 
summer  houses,  and  the  alcove.  That  alcove  makes  the  prettiest 
theater ! 

Felix.  The  prettiest  theater !  It  is  a  sign  you  have  never 
seen  a  real  theater.  Oh,  if  you  had  seen  a  real  theater,  as  I 
have ! 

Edwin.  I  am  glad  I  have  not,  because  I  should  then,  per- 
haps, be  discontented  with  ours  ;  and  now  we  all  like  it  very 


224  MARIA   EDGE  WORTH 

much.  And  I  do  so  hope  my  father  will  be  pleased !  Which 
way  are  you  going  now  ?  If  you  pass  by  the  schoolhouse,  do 
peep  in,  and  you'll  see  them  rehearsing  The  Sailor  s  Return. 
That  is  the  name  of  our  little  play.  Willy  Grant,  whom  you 
may  remember,  is  to  act  the  sailor,  and  he  has  a  good  notion  of 
it,  and  he  teaches  the  rest.  Come,  do  come  !  Won't  you  ? 

(Exeunt.^) 

SCENE  II. — A  Dame  School.  Dame  Deborah  in  an  armchair, 
knitting.  Children  standing  on  each  side  of  her,  some  with 
papers,  as  if  learning  by  heart,  some  looking  over  the  shoulders 
of  their  companions. 

Willy.  Look,  dear  Dame,  how  well  your  Johnny's  trousers 
fit  me  !  And  see  my  sailor's  jacket !  Now,  don't  I  look  like  a 
sailor,  just  come  home  from  sea?  And  hear  how  well  I  can 
whistle  (whistles  the  tune  of  "'Twas  in  the  good  ship  Rover"). 
That  was  not  quite  the  tune ;  if  you  would  but  sing  it  once 
for  me,  good  Dame  Deborah. 

Dame.     Ah,  my  dear  boy,  my  singing  days  are  over. 

Willy.  Oh,  no,  no,  they  are  not;  and  I  hope  they  will 
never  be,  while  I  am  alive. 

Dame.  How  the  youngster  talks !  (Stroking  his  head.) 
I  shall  be  laid  in  my  grave  long  and  long  before  you're  a  man. 

Willy  (stopping  her  mouth).  Don't  talk  of  that,  or  you'll 
stop  my  whistling  (trying  again  to  whistle).  I  can't  do  it, 
now. 

Dame.     Well,  I  must  sing  for  you,  I  see. 

Dame  Deborah  sings  in  a  tremulous  voice : 

"  'Twas  in  the  good  ship  Rover, 

I  sailed  the  world  around ; 
And  for  three  years  and  over, 

I  ne'er  touched  British  ground. 
At  length  in  England  landed, 

I  left  the  roaring  main ; 
Found  all  relations  stranded, 

And  put  to  sea  again." 


THE  DAME  SCHOOL  HOLIDAY  225 

Dame.     I  forget  the  next  verses,  till  we  come  to 
"  My  precious  limb  was  lopped  off." 

Hose  (interrupting}.  Oh,  that  about  your  precious  limb, 
Willy,  must  be  left  out ;  for  your  leg  must  not  be  lopped  off, 
because  you  are  to  dance  a  hornpipe. 

Willy.  That's  true  ;  and  I'll  dance  it  this  minute,  that  I 
may  be  quite  perfect.  (He  dances  a  hornpipe.} 

Dame.  Very  well  !  Very  well  done,  my  Willy  !  But  you 
should  have  a  little  stick  under  your  arm  ;  that  was  the  fashion, 
at  least  in  my  days. 

Willy.  I  have  one  here,  and  I'll  peel  it  quite  white  in  a 
minute.  (Sits  down  to  peel  the  stick.} 

Rose.  Dame,  I  have  my  part  quite  perfect  now  ;  don't  you 
think  so  ? 

Dame.  As  to  that,  you  will  do  well  enough  ;  only,  my 
Rosy,  take  care  not  to  speak  so  fast,  and  make  your  voice 
shake  a  little. 

Nancy.  Mine  is  a  very,  very  long  part,  and  I  have  a  very, 
very  short  memory.  Dear  Dame,  will  you  prompt  me  exceed- 
ingly loud  —  as  loud  as  this?  (Bawling.} 

Dame.  The  company,  Love,  would  hear  that.  Do  not  be 
frightened,  and  I  dare  say  your  memory  will  serve  you  very 
well. 

Nancy.  But  how  can  I  help  being  frightened  before  so  many 
people  ?  Now  I  am  not  the  least  bit  afraid  when  I  am  saying 
anything  to  you,  Dame. 

Mary.     No,  to  be  sure  ;  who  could  be  afraid  of  our  Dame  — 
except  naughty  children  ?     Dame  Deborah,  will  you  lend  me 
one  of  your  nice  plaited  caps  for  this  evening  ? 

Nancy.     And  your  black  mittens  and  best  shoes  to  me  ? 

Rose.     And  your  nice  silk  handkerchief  to  me  ? 

Nancy.     And  a  white  apron  for  me  ? 

Dame.    Ay,  ay,  Dears ;  only  patience,  till  I  can  find  my  keys. 

Nancy.  But,  Dame  Deborah,  I  have  a  great  favor  to  ask,  — 
I  am  almost  afraid.  ' 

80H.    IN    COM.  —  }§ 


226  MARIA  EDGEWORTH 

Dame.  Out  with  it  !  You  know  none  are  afraid  of  me  but 
naughty  children. 

Nancy.  Will  you  be  so  very  very  good  as  to  lend  me  your 
velvet  hood  ?  Because  I  am  to  be  a  very  old  woman. 

Rose.  Not  at  all;  you  are  only  to  be  a  middle-aged  sort  of 
woman.  Dame  Deborah's  black  bonnet  would  just  do  for  you, 
and  the  velvet  hood  for  me,  because  I  am  to  be  a  really  old 
woman — a  grandmother  with  a  stick  —  this  way. 

Nancy.  Very  true ;  but  Dame  Deborah's  Sunday  bonnet ! 
Her  best  black  bonnet !  Oh,  I  could  not  think  of  that ;  it's  a 
great  deal  too  good  for  me. 

Omnes.  Oh,  yes,  it  is  a  great  deal  too  good  for  us  to  meddle 
with ! 

Dame.  My  dear  children,  I  do  not  think  anything  I  have  in 
this  world  is  too  good  for  you.  To  be  sure,  that's  little  enough ; 
but,  such  as  it  is,  you  are  heartily  welcome,  for  you  are  good 
children,  and  I  love  you  one  and  all.  It  is  the  greatest  pleas- 
ure I  have  on  earth  to  see  you  happy,  Dears,  and  in  your  own 
innocent  plays  to  help  you  all  I  can.  Here,  Rose,  Love,  take 
this  key,  for  you  understand  a  lock,  and  unlock  yonder  press, 
and  there  you  may  suit  yourselves  to  your  fancies  —  only  don't 
lose  my  black  silk  mittens,  and  leave  me  one  clean  cap  for  this 
evening,  Dears.  {The  children  go  to  rummage.  Dame  Deborah 
aside. )  They  are  as  good  children,  I  will  say  that  for  them, 
—  though  I  should  not  praise  'em,  being  all,  I  may  say,  my 
own,  as  much  as  if  they  were  all  born  my  own  —  they  are  as 
good  children  as  any  on  the  face  of  this  earth ;  always  speak- 
ing the  truth,  and  honest,  so  that  I  could  trust  them  anywhere 
and  with  anything  or  anybody ;  then  so  dutiful,  so  willing  and 
obedient,  so  sweet-tempered,  and  so  grateful  for  the  little  one 
does  for  them !  Expert  enough  at  their  needles,  too,  and  for 
their  ages  no  ways  backward  at  their  books !  But  these  are 
not  the  first  things  with  me.  Their  duty  to  their  God  and 
their  neighbor,  first  and  foremost,  I  have  taught  them  to 
the  best  of  my  ability;  and  if  I  die  to-morrow,  I  shall  die 
with  a  clear  conscience  on  that  score.  But  this  is  no  time 


THE  DAME  SCHOOL  HOLIDAY  227 

to   talk   of    dying.      Well,  Dears,  have    you   found    all    you 
want  ? 

Rose.  Oh,  yes,  yes;  thank  you,  thank  you,  Dame.  Look 
how  well  the  velvet  hood  suits  me ;  and  though  your  shoes 
have  high  heels,  and  are  rather  too  large,  Dame,  see,  I  can 
walk  in  them  exceedingly  well. 

Willy.  Girls,  never  mind  your  heels  and  hoods  and  caps 
and  bonnets,  but  let  us  try  and  do  better  that  part  of  my 
coming  home.  Here,  Rose,  you  are  to  be  my  grandmother; 
here's  your  stick,  and  here's  your  spectacles.  Sit  you  down 
in  the  great  chair,  reading  your  book.  Now,  Grandmother, 
remember  you  must  not  know  me  too  soon,  or  you  spoil  all. 
I  seem,  you  know,  only  a  strange  gentleman,  as  it  were ;  and 
Avhat's  that  to  you  ?  So  you  keep  on  minding  your  book,  you 
know,  natural  like ;  and  you  must  not  stare  at  the  passenger, 
and  do  remember  that  you  are  very,  very  old. 

Rose.  Ay,  sure;  have  not  I  a  velvet  hood,  —  see,  —  tied 
under  my  chin  ? 

Willy.  But  that  won't  do  quite  of  itself.  It  won't  do  if  you 
jump  about  so  nimbly,  and  turn  your  head  so  quick  and  smart. 
You  must  keep  in  mind  that  your  eyes  be  dim,  and  that  you  can't 
see  without  your  spectacles ;  and  you  must  stick  'em  on  your 
nose  without  laughing  —  this  way  —  natural-like,  and  take  'em 
off,  and  wipe  'em  slow,  with  your  apron,  as  our  Dame  does ;  and 
then  put  your  finger  in  your  book,  to  keep  your  place,  and 
hold  the  spectacles,  so.  Do  try  to  look  like  a  real  old  woman. 

Rose  (jsitting  in  the  attitude  of  an  old  woman).  Is  that  it? 
I  hope  I  am  old  enough  now  to  please  you,  and  slow  enough, 
too.  I  cannot,  for  the  life  of  me,  be  slower  than  this;  and 
Master  Edwin  himself  said  I  was  slow  enough  last  time.  But 
you  are  more  particular,  by  a  great  deal,  than  he.  Howsome- 
ever,  I  will  not  be  cross.  Am  I  cross,  Dame  Deborah  ? 

Dame.  Not  more  than  an  old  woman  may  be.  An  old 
woman  may  be  cross  sometimes. 

Rose.  But  you  are  never  cross ;  and  I  will  be  such  an  old 
woman  as  you  are. 


228  MARIA  EDGEWORTH 

Willy.  That  will  do  bravely,  Rosy  —  (fixes  her  hand  in  the 
proper  position).  Now,  all  I  ask  of  you,  Rosy,  is  to  take  heed 
not  to  know  me  till  the  old  dog  jumps  up  and  licks  my  hand. 
First,  when  he  comes  up  smelling,  you  are  to  call  him  away, 
and  bid  him  not  be  troublesome  to  the  gentleman.  You  must 
call  out,  "  Keeper  !  Keeper  !  Come  hither  !  Come  hither,  sir ! " 
But  the  dog  knows  better;  he  keeps  wagging  his  tail,  and 
won't  go  back  to  you;  then  he  jumps  up  and  puts  his  paws 
on  my  breast,  and  you  cry,  "  Down !  down !  "  in  a  fuss,  be- 
cause of  his  dirty  paws.  Then  he  licks  my  hand. 

Rose.  And  then  I  may  speak,  sure  ?  And  then  I  may 
throw  down  my  spinning  wheel,  and  cry,  "  My  boy,  Willy  I 
my  own  good  grandson,  Willy !  " 

Willy.  But  stay;  we  are  not  come  to  that  yet.  Where's 
the  real  dog  ?  Keeper !  Keeper !  Keeper !  He'd  come  to  my 
whistle  if  he  was  at  the  Land's  End.  (Whistles.)  Keeper! 
Keeper  !  Keeper  !  I'll  have  him  here  in  a  trice.  (Exit,  whis- 
tling. )  Sit  still,  Rosy  —  stock  still. 

Dame.  But  I  be  sadly  afraid  when  Willy  has  him,  Keeper 
will  never  do  his  part  right. 

Rose.  Oh !  dear  Dame,  if  you'd  teach  him  your  own  self, 
he  could  not  but  learn. 

Dame  (shaking  her  head).  Ah,  my  child,  he's  too  old  to 
learn  ;  and  I  don't  know  how  to  teach  dogs.  I  had  rather  teach 
you  ten  hundred  —  that  is  to  say,  one  thousand  times  over. 

Rose.     Oh !  I  wish  Willy  and  his  dog  would  make   haste, 
for   I'm-  tired   sitting  stock   still,  waiting  for   him;    and   my 
hand  has  the  cramp,  so  it  has.     I  wish  he  would  come.     Do ; 
look  out  for  him,  Daisy  !     What  have  we  here  ? 

(Enter  Jenny  Parrot,  with  bandboxes. ) 

Jenny.  Dear  heart !  Pity  me  !  Such  a  load  —  so  hot  up  the 
hill ;  and  such  a  rough  road !  Haven't  walked  so  much  this 
twel' month,  except  in  Lon'on  streets,  which  is  as  smooth  as 
my  hand. 


THE  DAME  SCHOOL  HOLIDAY  229 

Dame  (aside).  Rosy,  my  spectacles,  dear;  they're  on  your 
nose.  Who  is  it?  (Aloud.)  Jenny  Parrot!  Welcome,  wel- 
come, Jenny.  Sit  ye  down. 

Jenny  (throws  herself  into  the  Dame's  chair).  I  ha'n't  a  leg 
to  stand  upon,  I  vow  and  purtest. 

Dame.  Tired,  after  your  journey?  'Tis  a  long  journey 
enough.  When  did  you  get  home  ? 

Jenny.     Last  night  at  tea. 

Dame.  And  we  not  know  till  now  !  Well !  If  your  mother 
had  been  alive,  she'd  have  been  here  to  tell  me,  if  it  were 
ten  o'clock  at  night,  even,  that  she  had  come.  But  I  won't 
scold;  you  are  very  good  to  come  at  all,  for  maybe  you  are 
wanted  at  home. 

Jenny.  No,  no ;  my  young  lady  sent  me  here  this  minute. 
Besides,  as  to  being  wanted,  I'm  my  own  mistress,  for  else  I 
shouldn't  condescend  to  stay  with  her,  for  I  could  have  got 
places  enough,  and  with  the  quality,  in  Lon'on.  Oh !  Lon'on 
is  a  fine  place !  'Tis  a  pity  you  were  never  there,  Mistress 
Deborah. 

Dame.     Call  me  Dame,1  if  you  be  pleased,  Jenny  Parrot. 

Jenny  (speaking  very  quickly).  Well,  Dame  Deborah,  as  I 
was  saying,  you've  no  notion  of  the  fine  things  I've  seed 2  since 
I  seed  you ;  such  loads  of  fine  ladies,  and  fine  gentlemen,  and 
milliners,  and  mantuamakers,  and  lace,  and  ribbons,  and  coaches, 


1  The  title  Dame  was  a  mark  of  distinction  very  dear  to  the  schoolmistress 
of  a  former  age.     To  this  Shenstone  alludes  in  the  following  stanza  of   The 
Schoolmistress :  — 

"  Albeit  ne  flattery  did  corrupt  her  truth, 
Ne  pompous  title  did  debauch  her  ear ; 
Goody,  good-woman,  gossip,  n'aunt,  forsooth, 
Or  Dame,  the  sole  additions  she  did  hear ; 
Yet  these  she  challenged,  these  she  held  right  dear, 
Ne  would  esteem  him  act  as  mought  behove, 
Who  should  not  honored  eld  with  these  revere ; 
For  never  title  yet  so  mean  could  prove, 
But  there  was  eke  a  mind  which  did  that  title  love." 

2  This  is  rather  an  exaggerated  error.    Illiterate  people  are  more  likely  to  say 
/  seen,  for  both  past  and  past  perfect  of  the  verb  see. 


230  MARIA  EDGEWORTH 

and  fans,  and  diamonds,  and  feathers,  and  flowers,  and  farces, 
and  balls,  and  Sadler's  Wells,1  and  lions,  and  bears,  and  the 
Tow'r,  and  St.  Paul's,  and  bonnets,  and  caps,  and  the  King,  and 
the  Queen,  and  the  Princesses,  and  the  waxwork  ! 

Dame.     Take  breath,  Jenny. 

Jenny.  Breath,  forsooth !  D'ye  think  I'm  in  an  asthma  ? 
Why,  I  could  talk  ten  times  as  much  without  ever  taking 
breath,  except  you  put  me  out.  Where  was  I?  Oh,  "Mrs.2 
Jane"  says  my  young  lady  to  me  (for  nobody,  Dame,  ever 
calls  me  anything  but  Mrs.  Jane),  "we  must  see  everything, 
Mrs.  Jane,"  says  she.  Says  I,  "  To  be  sure,  ma'am,  'tis  so 
fitting  for  a  young  lady  like  you  to  see  everything  that  is  to  be 
seen."  So  hurry,  skurry  went  we ;  dress,  dress,  dress ;  rattle, 
rattle,  rattle.  Lord  !  You'll  not  know  my  young  lady  again ; 
every  tittle  on  her  spick  and  span  new,  from  the  top  on  her  head 
to  the  sole  on  her  foot,  —  silk  stockings,  and  all  flesh  colored ! 
Miss  Babberly  was  always  tasty.  But  how  now,  children, 
for  your  life  don't  lay  your  dirty  fingers  on  that  there 
bandbox. 

Dame.  Their  fingers  be  seldom  or  never  dirty ;  I  will  say 
that  for  them.  But  stand  back,  Dears,  for  you  have  nothing 
to  do  with  bandboxes,  and  I  am  not  sorry  for  it.  No  offense. 

Jenny.  But  if  you  knewed  what  was  in  that  bandbox  —  but 
I'm  to  be  mumchance ;  my  young  lady's  to  tell  all.  Good-by 
to  you,  Dame,  I've  not  had  time  to  say  a  word  yet,  but  some 
other  day  —  some  other  time ;  not  a  syllabil  am  I  to  say  till 
Miss  Babberly  comes. 

Dame.     Miss  Babberly  !     Is  she  coming  here  ? 

Jenny.  Ay,  is  she  —  will  be  here  by  and  by.  Didn't  I  tell 
you  so  ?  That  was  what  I  came  to  say.  Miss  Babberly  sent 
me  on  to  give  ye  notice,  and  wouldn't  let  me  stay  to  finish 
dressing  on  her  out. 

Dame.     Dressing  her  out  I    To  come  here  I 

1  A  theater  in  London. 

1  2  The  title  Mrs.  was  formerly  often  applied  to  unmarried  women,  and,  as  a 
mark  of  special  respect  and  courtesy,  even  to  young  girls. 


THE  DAME  SCHOOL  HOLIDAY  231 

Jenny.  No,  no ;  but  to  go  through  the  village.  Folks  would 
stare  indeed  if  she  wasn't  dressed  somewhat l  extraordinary,  just 
come  from  Lon'on.  Well,  I'm  glad  she  didn't  come  along  with 
me,  for  when  she's  by  there's  no  getting  in  a  word  endways  or 
edgeways  or  anyways.  She  likes  to  have  all  the  talk  to  herself ; 
that's  the  plague  of  it.  Now  I  must  be  going  to  the  bowling 
green  to  tell  the  Lon'on  news,  and  then  to  Squire  Strut's ;  for 
his  nurse's  maid's  my  foster-brother's  sister,  so  for  old  relation's 
sake  must  give  her  a  call.  And  then  to  Mrs.  Blair's ;  for  her 
housekeeper's  brother's  son's  married  to  my  cousin-german, 
Peggy  Patten,  you  know,  so  she  must  have  a  call.  '  Lord ! 
When  one  comes  from  Lon'on,  one  has  so  many  friends  to  call 
upon  and  so  much  to  do  and  so  much  to  say,  one  ha'  need 
have  a  hundered  heads  and  a  thousand  legs  and  a  hundered 
thousand  tongues.  So  good-morrow  to  you,  Dame.  I  ha'n't 
had  time  to  say  a  word  to  you,  but  will  presently.  Chil- 
dren, not  a  finger  on  the  bandboxes,  on  your  peril ! 

(Exit  Jenny  Parrot. ~) 

Dame.  Well,  if  her  poor  tongue  be  not  tired  before  night, 
it  will  be  a  wonderful  tongue.  But  I  loved  talking  once  upon 
a  time  myself,  I  remember;  and  we  must  not  expect  to  find 
gray  heads  upon  green  shoulders,  especially  when  just  come 
from  London.  Children,  Dears,  let  us  carry  these  bandboxes ; 
they  will  be  safer  there  — 

Rose.  But  you  know  we  must  not  lay  a  finger  upon  them 
for  our  lives,  Dame. 

Dame.  Then  open  the  door  for  me,  and  I  will  carry  them 
myself ;  though,  to  my  knowledge,  I  never  carried  a  bandbox 
in  my  life  before.  (Exit  Dame,  carrying  a  bandbox.  Rose, 

Mary,  and  children  follow.} 

Rose.     Oh !     If  the  bandbox  should  open  1 

Mary.     Oh !     If  it  should  fall ! 

Rose.     I'm  glad  I'm  not  to  carry  it.     I  wonder  what's  in  it ! 

(Exeunt.^) 

1  The  dropping  of  the  h  in  words  like  somewhat  is  an  error  made  to  this  day 
even  by  people  of  education. 


232  MARIA  EDGEWOBTH 

ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.  —  Edwin,  Philip,  and  Cherry.     Edwin  writing  at  a 

small  table. 

Cherry.  Make  haste !  Make  haste !  Write  very  fast,  as 
Papa  does. 

Edwin.  When  I  have  finished  all  these  notes,  you  will  fold 
them  up,  Cherry,  and  Philip  will  seal  them. 

Cherry.  But  let  me  seal  some,  Philip ;  only  let  me  press  the 
seal  down,  will  you  ?  I  am  old  enough  for  that. 

Philip.  We  shall  see.  Have  you  written  to  invite  every- 
body in  the  village,  Edwin  ? 

Cherry.  Let  us  count  how  many  notes  are  there  —  One,  two, 
three. 

(Enter  Felix.     Edwin  rises  and  comes  forward.     Philip  and 
Cherry  remain  at  the  table,  folding  notes.) 

Felix.  Well,  I've  called  as  you  desired,  to  see  the  children's 
theater. 

Edwin.     Thank  you  ;  and  do  you  think  it  will  do  ? 

Felix  (whips  his  boots  and  sneers).  Why,  as  to  that,  if  you 
ask  my  opinion,  as  a  friend,  candidly,  I  think  the  thing  will  be 
a  horrid  bore ;  it  will  never  do,  even  for  the  country.  Take 
my  advice,  and  give  it  up. 

Philip  and  Cherry.  Give  it  up !  Give  it  up !  Oh,  no, 
Edwin,  don't  give  it  up. 

Cherry.     I  am  sure  Papa  and  Mamma  will  like  it. 

Philip.  And  all  the  poor  children,  and  Dame  Deborah,  and 
everybody  would  be  so  much  disappointed.  Oh,  don't  give  it  up. 

Edwin.  Perhaps,  Felix,  you  could  show  me  some  of  the 
faults,  that  I  might  mend  them. 

Felix  (sarcastically).  'Pon  my  honor,  I  see  no  faults  that 
can  be  mended.  But  why  did  you  not  take  some  real  play ; 
some  of  the  new  plays  that  have  been  acted  in  Lon'on?  Then 
we  might  have  had  a  chance  of  some  fun,  instead  of  all  this 
stupid  stuff  about  children  and  grandmothers  and  old  nurses. 


THE  DAME  SCHOOL   HOLIDAY  233 

Edwin.     I  never  saw  any  of  the  new  plays. 

Felix.  Never !  Then  how  could  you,  my  dear  fellow,  pos- 
sibly think  of  writing  anything  in  the  dramatic  line,  as  they 
call  it? 

Edwin.     You  know,  mine  is  only  a  little  play  for  children. 

Philip.  But  will  you,  Felix,  who  have  seen  so  many  of  these 
grand  plays  that  have  been  acted  in  London,  tell  us  what  sort 
of  things  they  are  ? 

Felix.  Oh,  I  could  not  make  such  children  as  you  under- 
stand anything  about  them. 

Edwin.  But  perhaps  I  could  understand  them.  Try,  will 
you? 

Felix.  Really,  I  don't  remember  exactly.  I've  seen  so 
many,  they  are  jumbled  together  in  my  head;  and  they  are 
so  like  one  another,  there's  no  telling  'em  asunder.  There's 
a  d good  character  in  one  —  I  forget  which. 

Cherry  (aside  to  Philip).  Did  you  hear  the  word  Felix  said 
before  good  character  ? 

Felix.  A  d good  character,  upon  my  honor.  There's 

a  man  that's  a  buck,  and  has  been  a  tailor ;  and  he's  always 
saying,  "  Push  on  !  Keep  moving  !  Push  on  !  Keep  moving  !  " 

Edwin.     But  is  that  all  he  says? 

Felix.  All  that  I  remember.  You  know,  one  only  remem- 
bers the  good  things. 

Edwin.  Well,  but  I  suppose  he  does  something  very 
diverting. 

Felix.  Yes,  that  he  does.  He  tears  his  coat,  and  his  father 
takes  it  off  to  mend  it. 

Edwin.     Upon  the  stage  ? 

Felix.  Yes,  upon  the  stage ;  for  his  father  was  tailor,  too, 
therefore  it  was  quite  in  character  —  quite  natural.  So  the  son 
stands  without  his  coat ;  and  while  he  is  standing  in  that  con- 
dition, a  fine  lady  with  a  great  fortune,  whom  he  is  courting, 
comes  pop  in  upon  them.  And  then  he  scrambles  and  shuffles 
himself  into  his  coat,  this  way — (imitates);  and  he  or  the 
father  tailor,  I  forget  which,  sits  down  upon  the  needle,  and 


234  MARIA  EDGEWORTH 

pricks  himself.  And  then  all  the  house  clap  and  cry  "  Encore  ! 
Encore  !  " 

Edwin.     But  this  is  a  farce,  is  it  not? 

Felix.  No,  no,  it's  a  comedy.  Surely  I  must  know,  that 
have  been  in  Lon'on  and  have  read  the  playbill.  The  farce 
always  comes  after  the  play  —  do  you  understand  ?  First  there 
is  a  tragedy,  or  else  a  comedy,  do  ye  see ;  and  afterward  a 
farce.  Now  this  did  not  come  afterward,  so  it  could  not  be  a 
farce,  you  know ;  and  it  could  not  be  a  tragedy,  because  there 
was  no  killing,  and  it  ended  happily.  So  it  must  be  a  comedy. 

Edwin.  But  are  all  things  that  are  neither  tragedies  nor 
farces,  comedies? 

Felix.  To  be  sure.  What  else  can  they  be,  unless  they 
are  operas  ?  And  those  are  all  singing,  almost. 

Edwin.  But  all  the  new  comedies  cannot  be  like  this,  Felix. 
What  other  characters  do  you  remember? 

Felix.  I  don't  recollect  any  in  particular;  but  I  know  in 
general  there  is  always  a  dasher,  a  buck,  a  dandy,  and  he 
must  walk  this  way,  and  stand  this  way,  and  lounge  this  way; 
and  he  must  swear  and  slash  about,  and  he  must  have  a  whip 
or  a  little  stick,  and  his  neck  must  be  made  as  thick  as  his 
body,  with  cravats  over  his  chin.  That's  his  character. 

Edwin.     His  dress,  you  mean. 

Felix.     Well,  but  I  tell  you,  the  dress  makes  the  character. 

Edwin.     Oh,  I  did  not  know  that. 

Felix.  For  sometimes  a  man  that's  dressed  in  character 
makes  the  house  roar  before  he  has  said  a  word.  Then  there 
must  be  a  fine  lady,  a  flirt,  a  coquette ;  and  she  must  be  dressed, 
too,  in  the  tip,  tip,  top  of  the  fashion,  and  she  must  stare  this 
way,  or  put  up  her  glass  so,  and  everybody  —  'squires  and 
baronets  and  Lords  and  all  —  must  be  in  love  with  her.  I  mean 
if  she  has  a  large  fortune ;  and  if  she  has  nothing,  then  some 
ridiculous,  old,  old  man,  hobbling  this  way,  must  be  in  love 
with  her,  and  she  must  quiz  him. 

Philip.      Quiz  him  !     What's  that? 

Felix.     Pshaw!    I  can't  explain  it  —  but  everybody  knows  — 


THE  DAME  SCHOOL  HOLIDAY  235 

those  that  ar'n't  in  the  fashion  are  quizzes  ;  and  all  poor  people 
and  old  people,  uncles  and  aunts,  mothers,  and  fathers  in  wigs 
are  quizzes,  and  always  are  quizzed  in  the  new  plays.  Without 
them  there  could  be  no  fun.  Why  do  you  look  so  stupid, 
Child?  (To  Philip.} 

Philip.  Because  I  do  not  understand  what  you  mean  by 
quizzing  and  quizzed  and  quiz. 

Cherry.     Look  in  the  dictionary,  can  you  not,  Philip? 

Edwin.     You  will  not  find  it  in  the  dictionary,  my  dear. 

Felix.  No,  no,  because  it  is  a  fashionable  word.  How  can 
you  be  so  stupid,  Child !  It  means  taking  a  person  in  —  making 
them  look  like  fools  —  making  a  joke  of  them. 

Philip.  But,  then,  what  do  you  mean  by  quizzing  fathers  and 
mothers,  and  uncles  and  aunts,  and  poor  people  and  old  people  ? 

Felix  (with  infinite  contempt).  Child  !  I  wish  you  would  not 
pester  me  with  such  foolish  questions.  What  can  you  know 
of  the  world,  and  how  can  I  explain  these  things  to  you  ? 

Cherry.  Come  away,  Philip ;  let  us  mind  our  business,  and 
seal  the  notes.  I'll  light  the  candle.  (Exit  Cherry.} 

Felix.  Where  was  I  ?  Oh !  Besides  a  fine  dashing  gentle- 
man and  a  fine  dashing  lady,  and  some  quizzical  old  people, 
there  must  be  attorneys  and  apothecaries,  that  are  always 
ridiculous ;  and  there  must  be  an  Irishman,  to  make  blunders 
and  talk  with  the  brogue  ;  and  there  must  be  a  Frenchman,  to 
talk  broken  English,  and  say  dis  and  dat,  and  a  few  words  of 
French  —  comme  il  faut  — j e  ne  sais  quoi  —  pardonnez  moi  —  tout 
au  contraire.  And  then  the  scenes  must  change  very  often,  and 
there  must  be  some  good  songs  —  nonsense  songs. 

Edwin.     What  do  you  mean  by  nonsense  songs? 

Felix.  Oh,  anything  will  do  if  you  sing  it  well;  for  in- 
stance—  (Sings:} 

"  With  a  wig-wig-wag ; 
With  a  jig-jig-jag ; 
With  a  crick-crick-crack ; 
With  a  nick-nick-nack ; 
With  a  whack-whack-whack, 
On  the  back-back-back." 


236  MARIA  EDGEWOETS 

Philip.  Oh,  Felix ;  but  really !  It  is  like  a  little  child's 
song. 

Felix.  No  matter  what  it  is  like,  it  is  very  much  admired  — 
quite  the  rage. 

(Reenter  Cherry,  with  a  candle.} 

But  this  is  nothing  to  "  The  Little  Farthing  Rushlight."     Give 
me  that  candle,  Cherry,  and  you  shall  hear  it. 

(Felix  sings  "  The  Little  Farthing  Rushlight.'1''} 

Philip  and  Cherry  (laughing}.  Oh,  Felix ;  it  is  impossible 
that  grown-up  people  can  be  so  very  silly. 

Felix.     Silly  !     Nothing's  silly  that's  the  fashion. 

(Enter  a  Servant.} 

Servant.  Mr.  Edwin,  there's  a  peddler  below.  He  has  a  load 
of  fine  things  —  toothpick  cases  and  pins  and  broaches  and 
watches. 

Felix.  Who  would  look  at  such  a  traveling  fellow's  trum- 
pery, that  has  been  in  Lon'on? 

Edwin.  We  do  not  want  anything.  Don't  keep  the  poor 
man  waiting. 

Cherry.  But,  Edwin,  let  us  look  at  the  pretty  boxes  and 
things. 

Philip.  And  the  watches  !  Oh,  Edwin  !  Let  us  look  at  the 
watches. 

Edwin.  As  we  do  not  intend  to  buy  anything  from  this 
man,  we  should  not  give  him  the  trouble  of  opening  his 
pack. 

Philip.     No  ;  to  be  sure  we  should  not. 

Edwin.     Tell  him  that  he  need  not  wait. 

Servant.  Sir,  the  poor  man  fell  against  a  stone,  and  has  cut 
his  leg  sadly. 

Edwin.  Cut  his  leg !  Let  us  go  and  see  him ;  perhaps  we  can 
do  some  good  —  (Edwin  going.} 

Cherry.      Oh !  I   know   an   excellent   thing  —  lint !      Dame 


THE  DAME   SCHOOL   HOLIDAY  237 

Deborah  said  so.  Dame  Deborah  is  the  best  person  in  the 
world  for  lint,  when  I  cut  my  hand.  Oh,  Philip  !  Stay  for  me. 

Philip.  Come  along  then,  quick.  (Exeunt  Philip  and 
Cherry.*) 

Felix.  Lord !  What  a  fuss  about  a  cut  on  a  peddler's  shin. 
Why,  if  it  was  the  King  or  my  Lord  Mayor  himself,  they  could 
not  run  faster.  But,  poor  children,  they  know  nothing  of  the 
world.  How  should  they  ?  (  Groes  to  the  table  and  looks  at  the 
notes. )  Heyday.  What  a  parcel  of  notes  —  invitations  to  the 
world  and  his  wife,  to  see  this  foolish  play.  Edwin  thinks  to 
have  all  the  village  at  his  beck,  I  see,  and  to  be  Lord  of  the 
manor,  and  King  over  us  all !  But  it  sha'n't  do  —  it  sha'n't  do. 
He  may  invite  as  many  people  as  he  pleases;  but  I'm  too 
sharp  for  him.  His  play  shall  not  be  acted  to-night,  that  I'm 
resolved  upon.  I'll  outwit  him  yet,  or  my  name  is  not  Felix. 

(Exit.) 

SCENE  II.  —  The  Dame  School.      Dame  Deborah  in  her  great 

chair,  knitting. 

(Enter  Miss  Babberly.) 

Miss  Babberly.  So,  Dame  Deborah,  are  you  alive  still? 
Looking,  for  all  the  world,  just  as  you  used  to  do  before  I 
went  to  Lon'on. 

Dame.  Ay,  Miss,  just  as  I  used  to  do ;  and  I  hope,  Miss, 
you  are  the  same. 

Miss  Babberly  (aside).  The  same!  Has  the  old  trowdledum 
no  eyes?  (Aloud.)  Why,  Dame  Deborah,  you  must  be  as 
old  as  St.  Paul's  or  the  Monument,  at  least.  I  remember  you  sit- 
ting in  that  very  chair,  knitting,  ever  since  I  was  born.  La ! 
how  tired  you  must  be ;  and  every  one  of  the  old  things,  and 
the  Bible  and  all,  just  the  same  as  before  I  went  to  Lon'on. 
La !  how  dull  you  must  be ;  and  have  you  only  the  old  little 
corner  of  a  garden  (looking  out)  that  you  used  to  have  ? 

Dame.     No  more,  Miss ;  but  I  be  happy  —  at  your  service. 

Miss  Babberly.     Why,  how  can  you  be  happy  with  such  a 


238  MARIA   EDGE  WORTH 

little  bit  of  a  thing  ?  Our  town  garden  is  twenty  times  as  big  ; 
and  I  and  Papa  are  always  fretting  because  it  is  no  bigger. 

Dame.  Ah,  Miss  !  A  little  thing  will  make  a  person  happy 
if  they  be  so  inclinable ;  and  all  the  great  things  in  this  mortal 
world  will  not  do  so  much  if  they  be  not  so  inclined. 

Miss  Babberly.  Very  true,  very  likely ;  but  I  did  not  come 
here  to  be  preached  to.  Pray,  did  not  my  maid  Jane  leave  a 
bandbox  here? 

Dame.  Ay,  she  did  (going  for  the  bandbox  and  bringing  it 
out),  and  here  it  is,  safe,  Miss.  What  would  you  be  pleased  to 
have  done  with  it? 

Miss  Babberly  (opening  if).  In  the  first  and  foremost  place, 
Dame,  you  must  do  something  for  me. 

Dame.  Any  service  in  my  power,  and  in  reason  and  right, 
you  may  be  sure  of  from  me,  Miss  Babberly ;  for  I  loved  your 
mother  from  the  time  she  was  so  high,  learning  her  crisscross 
row  at  my  knee.  She  was  as  sweet  a  child,  God  bless  her,  as— 

Miss  Babberly  (interrupting).  Ay,  I  dare  say  she  was.  I 
wonder  they  did  not  send  her  to  a  Lon'on  school ;  but  that's 
over,  now.  Look  here,  Dame  Deborah  (opening  the  bandbox), 
look  at  this  elegant  silk  shawl  handkerchief,  as  good  as  new ; 
I  never  wore  it,  but  at  my  Lady  Grimdrum's  one  night,  and 
once  at  Vauxhall,  and  once  at  Ranelagh,  and  twice  at  the  play. 
I  don't  know  what  my  maid,  Mrs.  Jane,  will  say  to  my  giving 
away  so  good  a  thing,  which,  by  right,  ought  to  be  hers ;  but 
here,  Dame,  take  it,  and  now  — 

Dame.  I  ask  your  pardon,  Miss ;  I  cannot  take  it.  It  would 
not  become  me  to  wear  such  a  fine  thing.  But  I  am  as  much 
beholden  to  you  as  if  I  took  it ;  and  glad,  moreover,  I  am,  to 
see  you  have  so  much  of  your  mother's  heart,  to  think,  when  so 
far  away,  of  a  poor  old  woman. 

Miss  Babberly  (aside).  La,  how  she  mistakes ;  I'm  sure  I 
never  thought  of  her  when  I  was  away.  (Aloud.)  Come, 
come,  take  this  shawl,  without  more  parading  or  palaver,  and 
throw  away  this  horrid  dowdy  thing,  that  looks  as  if  you  had 
worn  it  these  hundred  years. 


THE  DAME  SCHOOL  HOLIDAY  239 

Dame.  No,  Miss,  no.  With  your  good  leave,  I  value  this, 
plain  serge  though  it  be,  above  all  the  shawls,  silk  or  other, 
that  ever  can  be  ;  for  it  was  made  of  the  spinnings  1  of  my  dear 
children,  two  generations  of  them.  And  your  own  sweet  mother 
had  her  hand  in  it.  I  think  I  see  her  now,  a-turning  that  very 
wheel  yonder,  under  my  own  eye,  for  the  first  time.  Pretty 
soul !  God  bless  her  little  fingers ! 

Miss  Babberly  (aside).  She's  doting,  certainly.  She'd  talk 
forever  if  I'd  let  her,  I  believe. 

Dame  (after  wiping  her  eyes).  Well,  Miss  Babberly,  pray 
be  pleased  to  tell  me  what  I  can  do  to  serve  you ;  for  'twill  be 
a  satisfaction  to  me  to  do  anything,  be  it  ever  so  little,  for  your 
mother's  daughter. 

Miss  Babberly.  What  I  want,  in  truth,  is  little  enough  — 
only  your  old  school  benches  for  to-night. 

Dame.  Ah !  You  should  be  heartily  welcome  to  them,  Miss, 
only  that  I  have  promised  them  to  Master  Edwin  for  to- 
night. 'Tis  his  father's  birthday,  and  he  has  made  a  little  play 
for  our  young  folks  to  act ;  and  all  the  village,  and  even  old  I, 
reckon  to  be  at  the  bowling  green  this  night,  by  six  o'clock. 

Miss  Babberly.  Well,  well,  I  know  all  that ;  but  my  brother 
Felix  and  I  have  a  scheme  of  our  own,  and  we  must  have  the 
benches,  do  you  understand  ?  And  we'll  show  your  young  folks 
how  to  do  something  better  worth  seeing  by  all  the  village 
than  this  nonsensical  play  of  Master  Edwin's,  as  you  call  him. 
What  can  he  know  of  plays  —  he  that  has  never  been  in 
Lon'on? 

Dame.  Indeed,  Miss  Babberly,  I  cannot  say  as  to  that.  But 
this  I  know,  that  I  have  promised  him  my  benches. 

Miss  Babberly.     Pooh  !     What  signifies  your  promise  ? 

Dame.  My  promise  !  What  signifies  it,  Miss  !  Poor  as  I  am, 
my  promise  is  as  much  to  me  —  as  much,  ay,  as  mountains  of 
shawls  would  be  to  you,  Miss  Babberly. 

1  A  spinning  wheel  was  a  part  of  the  regular  furnishing  of  the  dame  schools, 
and  girls  were  instructed  at  school  in  the  art  of  spinning. 


240  MARIA   EDGEWORTH 

Miss  Babberly.     La !     How  the  woman  talks. 

Dame.  Though  I  be  nobody,  I  would  not  break  my  promise, 
look  you,  for  anybody  upon  earth,  Miss  —  not  lor  the  Queen's 
Majesty,  if  so  be  she  were  to  come  down  from  her  throne  in 
her  royal  robes,  and  crown  upon  her  head,  to  this  poor  cottage, 
and  say  to  me,  "  Dame  Deborah,  break  your  word  for  me,  and 
I'll  make  you  a  Duchess."  I  would  make  answer  —  No,  please 
your  Queenship,  I  have  a  soul  to  be  saved  as  well  as  your 
Majesty's  Ladyship ;  and  as  to  being  a  Duchess  here  upon  earth, 
I  reckon  to  be  soon  an  angel  in  Heaven. 

Miss  Babberly.  You  an  angel !  You  look  wondrous  like  one, 
indeed !  You  must  alter  greatly  before  you  are  an  angel. 

Dame.  True,  Miss  Babberly ;  and  great  alterations  do  come 
to  pass  in  a  short  time,  as  we  see  in  people  even  here  upon 
earth. 

Miss  Babberly.  So  the  short  and  the  long  of  it  is,  that  you 
won't  lend  us  your  old  benches. 

Dame.  I  cannot,  Miss,  having  promised  to  lend  them  to 
another. 

Miffs  Babberly.  La !  You  could  make  an  excuse,  if  you  had 
but  a  mind.  Could  not  you  say  that  you  did  not  know  we  was 
to  come  home,  and  that  you'd  promised  them  first,  long  ago, 
to  me? 

Dame.     Would  not  that  be  a  lie,  Miss? 

Miss  Babberly.  Dear  me,  no ;  that's  only  called  an  excuse,  in 
Lon'on. 

Dame.  I  never  was  in  Lon'on,  Miss  —  (aside)  and  wish 
you  had  never  been  there  neither,  if  this  is  all  the  good  you've 
learned  by  it. 

Miss  Babberly.  Keep  your  old  benches  to  yourself,  then. 
I'll  be  bound  we'll  do  as  well  without  them ;  and,  I'll  answer 
for  it,  I'll  get  your  little  dears  to  do  what  we  want,  in  spite  of 
you. 

Dame.  It  will  not  be  in  spite  of  me,  if  it  be  anything  right 
that  you  want  of  them  ;  but  in  spite  of  you  —  no  offense  meant, 
Miss  Babberly  —  they  will  not  do  anything  that's  wrong. 


THE  DAME  SCHOOL  HOLIDAY  241 

Miss  Babberly.  Right  or  wrong,  I'll  make  them  do  what- 
ever I  choose.  (Dame  shakes  her  head.}  That  is,  when  you 
are  not  by  to  shake  your  head  at  them,  and  frighten  them  out 
of  their  wits. 

Dame.  As  to  that,  they  ben't  a  bit  afraid  of  me,  Miss ;  'tis 
only  of  doing  wrong  they  be  taught  to  be  afraid.  I  will  not 
say  a  word  to  them,  one  way  or  other,  but  just  stand  by,  this 
way ;  and  do  you  ask  them,  Miss  Babberly,  what  you  please. 
If  it  be  right,  they'll  say  yes ;  if  wrong  (striking  her  stick  on 
the  ground},  they'll  say  no  ! 

Miss  Babberly  (softening  her  voice).  Oh,  come,  come,  Dame 
Deborah,  don't  be  so  stiff  and  cross,  but  do  you  get  them  to  do 
what  I  want.  I  only  just  want  these  children  to  give  up  act- 
ing this  foolish  play  of  EdAvin's,  and  my  brother  and  I  will 
show  them  how  to  act  a  much  better. 

Dame.  Oh,  surely,  Miss  Babberly,  you  would  not  ask  them 
to  do  such  an  ill-natured  thing  by  poor  Mr.  Edwin,  when  he 
has  taken  such  pains  to  get  this  little  play  ready  for  his 
father's  birthday. 

Miss  Babberly.  He  was  very  ill-natured  to  me ;  he  did  not 
dance  with  me  this  time  last  year  at  the  ball,  and  one  bad 
turn  deserves  another. 

Dame.  And  can  you,  Miss  Babberly,  remember  to  bear 
malice  a  whole  year?  No,  no;  take  my  advice. 

Miss  Babberly.  I  don't  want  any  advice.  I  hate  advice. 
All  I  ask  of  you  is  to  let  me  see  the  children.  Where  are 
they? 

Dame.  They  be  out  in  the  field  hard  by  ;  but  if  I  ring  this 
little  bell,  they  will  be  here  in  a  trice. 

Miss  Babberly.     Ring  it  then  ;  ring  it  directly. 

Dame.  Ah !  My  dear  Miss  Babberly,  do  ye  think  a  bit,  and 
you'll  not  go  to  do  a  spiteful  thing,  and  you'll  not  go  to  spoil 
all  the  sport  of  these  innocent  little  ones,  and  breed  ill-will, 
especially  on  this  happy  day.  (Dame  Deborah  lays  her  hand 
affectionately  on  Miss  Babberly 's  arm.}  Ah,  my  dear  Miss, 
think  a  bit,  think  a  bit,  do  ye  !  pray ! 

SCH.  IN  COM.  16 


242  MAltlA    EL>UE\VORTH 

Miss  Babberly  (shaking  her  off).  I  have  thought  long 
enough,  and  I  hate  thinking.  Ring  !  ring  !  That's  all  I  want 
of  you  ;  ring,  ring,  and  no  more  preaching.  If  you  won't  ring, 
I  will.  (The  Dame  sighs,  and  leans  on  her  stick.  Miss  Babberly 
snatches  the  bell  and  rings.) 

SCENE  III. — Enter  the    children.     Miss  Babberly,  taking  arti- 
ficial floivers  out  of  a  bandbox. 

Miss  Babberly.  Come,  children !  I  want  you  to  do  some- 
thing for  me.  Look  at  these  beautiful  things,  just  fresh  from 
Lon'on.  I'll  give  you  these  if  you'll  do  what  I  want. 

All  the  children  exclaim.     How  pretty  !     How  pretty  ! 

Nancy.  How  like  a  real  lilac !  I  should  like  to  have  that 
pretty  bunch  of  laburnums. 

Mary.  And  those  roses  —  oh  !  how  pretty  they  are  ;  but 
they  have  no  smell.  I  would  much  rather  have  the  real  sweet 
roses  in  our  Dame's  garden. 

Miss  Babberly.  But  real  roses  wither  in  winter.  Now,  you 
may  stick  these  artificial  flowers  in  your  bonnet,  and  they  \\ill 
last  forever.  Don't  they  look  pretty  this  way?  (Places  them 
in  Mary's  hat.) 

Hannah  (laughing).  They  look  very  odd,  Mary,  in  your  old 
hat.  1  don't  think  they  are  suited  to  us  poor  children. 

Miss  Babberly.  Very  likely.  Yet  they  are  quite  the  fashion, 
I  assure  you. 

Rose.  But  we  know  nothing  of  fashion ;  we  care  nothing 
for  fashion ! 

Miss  Babberly  (aside).  They  are  the  most  stupid,  countri- 
fied creatures  I  ever  saw.  (Aloud.)  But  only  consider,  Mary, 
how  this  becomes  you. 

Mary.    Indeed,  Miss,  I  thank  you  kindly,  but  I  do  not  think  it 

would  become  me  at  all  to  wear  such  things.  -Would  it,  Dame? 

(Dame  Deborah  puts  her  fingers  on  her  lips,  and  is  silent.) 

Miss  Babberly.  But,  Hannah,  this  necklace ;  would  you  not 
like  to  have  this? 


THE  DAME  SCHOOL   HOLIDAY  243 

Hannah.  No,  Miss,  I  am  obliged  to  you.  I  have  no  wish 
for  it ;  I  have  no  use  for  it. 

Rose.  Would  you  be  pleased  to  tell  us  at  once,  Miss,  what 
it  is  that  you  want  us  to  do  for  you  —  because,  if  we  can  do  it 
we  will,  without  any  presents. 

Miss  Babberly.  Why,  I  only  want  you  to  give  up  acting 
this  foolish  thing  for  Mr.  Edwin,  and  my  brother  Felix  and  I 
will  show  you  how  to  do  an  impromptu  of  our  own  invention. 
Then  you  will  have  nothing  to  get  by  heart,  and  will  have  an 
elegant  supper  ready  for  you  after  it's  over,  and  sweetmeats 
of  all  sorts ;  and  everybody,  that  is,  all  the  company  we  have 
in  our  house  from  Lon'on,  will  admire  you. 

Mary  (to  Rose  aside).  Sweetmeats  of  all  sorts !  Do  you 
hear  that  ? 

Hannah  (aside).     Oh!  I  should  like  sweetmeats  very  much. 

Miss  Babberly  (aside).  Ha!  ha!  I  see,  the  sweetmeats  will 
do  the  business. 

Rose  (aside  to  Mary).  But  I  would  not  break  my  word  for 
sweetmeats.  Would  you,  Mary  ? 

Mary  (aside  to  Rose).     No,  to  be  sure. 

Hannah  (aside  to  Mary  and  Rose).  No,  no ;  we  must  not  do 
that. 

Rose  (aside  to  Mary  and  Hannah).  Besides,  Mr.  Edwin  is 
always  so  good  to  us. 

Miss  Babberly.  Well,  children,  do  you  intend  to  keep  me 
here  all  day  ?  Yes  or  no  ? 

Rose.  No,  thank  you,  Miss.  We  are  much  obliged  to  you, 
but  we  cannot  break  our  promise,  you  know,  with  Mr.  Edwin. 

Miss  Babberly.  Speak  for  yourself  only,  if  you  please,  Miss 
Pert.  Don't  say  we,  for  I  dare  say  there  are  many  here  who 
are  not  of  your  mind. 

The  children  all  exclaim.  No  !  no  !  Not  one  !  Rose  has  said 
what  we  all  thought. 

Dame.  This  is  just  what  I  expected  from  you,  my  dear 
children.  (She  goes  to  kiss  them.)  I  told  Miss  Babberly  so. 
I  advised  her  — 


244  MARIA   EDGE  WORTH 

Miss  Babberly.  Don't  talk  of  advising  me,  you  preaching 
old  woman  !  (Pushes  the  crutch  from  under  Dame  Deborah  as 
she  stoops,  and  throws  her  down.*) 

Children  exclaim.     She  pushed  our  Dame  down ! 

(Some  of  them  help  the  Dame  up,  while  Mary  catches  hold  of 
Miss  Babberly's  hands,  and  Rose  throws  Miss  Babberly's 
shawl  over  the  young  lady,  and  winds  it  round  her  while 
she  struggles  and  screams.*) 

Dame.  My  Dears,  what  are  you  about  ?  She  could  not 
mean  to  do  me  any  harm. 

Hose.  Oh,  yes,  she  did,  she  did;  and  now  we  have  her 
hands  safe. 

Miss  Babberly.  Impertinence  !  Insolence  !  Children  !  Brats  ! 
Let  me  go  !  You  shall  be  all  put  in  jail  —  Papa  will  put  you  all 
in  the  pillory  for  this  —  if  you  don't  let  me  loose,  this  minute. 

Rose.     Not  till  you  have  asked  our  Dame's  pardon. 

Miss  Babberly  (struggles  in  vain,  crying  loudly).  Let  me 
loose  !  Let  me  loose,  children  ! 

Dame.  My  Dears,  this  must  not  be.  I  will  let  you  loose, 
Miss,  if  you  will  only  be  still.  (She  unwinds  the  shawl,  and 
sets  Miss  Babberly  at  liberty. )  You  know,  my  dear  children, 
we  should  return  good  for  evil. 

Miss  Babberly.     You  shall  all  suffer  for  this,  I  promise  you. 

(Exit  Miss  Babberly. ) 

Rose.     Miss  Babberly,  you  have  left  your  bandbox. 

Dame.  Run  after  her  with  it,  Rosy,  and  carry  it  to  her 
house.  Pray  be  civil,  my  child.  You  will  find  me,  when  you 
come  back,  sitting  out  under  the  great  tree  in  the  meadow, 
hearing  these  little  ones  in  their  parts.  And  do  you  come  and 
say  yours;  do  you  mind  me,  Rose?  (JSxeunt.) 

SCEN^J  IV.  —  A  room,  ornamented  with  boughs,  garlands,  and 
flowers.     Edwin,  Philip,  and  Cherry. 

Philip  (on  the  top  of  a  stepladder).  Oh!  I  am  very  glad 
Edwin  likes  our  work. 


THE  DAME  SCHOOL  HOLIDAY  245 

Cherry  (clapping  her  hands}.     So  am  I !  So  am  I ! 

Philip.  Edwin,  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  hang  up  these 
garlands  for"  me,  for  I  cannot  reach  quite  high  enough. 
Edwin,  do  you  think  my  father  will  like  it  ? 

Cherry.  Edwin,  do  you  think  Mamma  will  like  it?  And 
shall  we  bring  Papa  in  before  dinner,  or  wait  till  tea  time  ? 
Do  you  think  the  smell  of  the  flowers  is  too  strong?  I  don't 
know  what  people  mean  by  the  smell  of  flowers  being  too 
strong  for  them,  Edwin,  do  you  ?  Edwin,  do  you  like  the 
smell  of  honeysuckles  or  roses  best,  and  do  you  like  these 
dog  roses  ? 

Edwin.  Which  of  the  six  questions  that  you  have  asked 
me,  Cherry,  shall  I  answer  first  ? 

(Edwin  is  busy  putting  up  the  garlands.) 

Philip.  My  dear  Cherry,  six  questions  !  That  is  really  too 
much.  Now,  Edwin,  don't  you  think  we  had  better  ask 
Mamma  to  have  the  tea  table  here,  that  we  may  drink  tea 
before  we  go  to  the  play  ?  Oh !  my  dear  Edwin,  have  the 
children  their  parts  quite  perfect?  Do  you  think  Rosy  will 
act  the  old  grandmother  well  ?  Will  Dame  Deborah  come  ? 
I  hope  she  will  —  I  love  Dame  Deborah.  Doesn't  Willy  play 
the  sailor  admirably  well?  And  don't  the  trousers  fit  him 
well? 

Cherry.  Six  !  There,  Philip,  you  have  asked  six  questions 
your  own  self,  and  without  ever  waiting  for  an  —  My  good- 
ness !  Look,  Philip  !  Edwin !  Edwin  !  Look  what  comes  here ! 

(Enter  Willy,  his  hair  and  clothes  wet.      He  is  followed  by  a  doy 
as  wet  as  himself,  and  which  has  one  of  its  legs  tied  up.) 

Edwin.  What  is  the  matter,  Willy?  You  look  as  if  you 
had  been  half  drowned. 

Willy.  So  I  have,  Master  ;  but  no  matter  for  that.  I  think 
very  little  o'  that ;  I  think  more  o'  my  dog.  If  he  had  but 
let  my  dog  alone,  I  should  not  ha'  minded  the  rest  a  straw; 
but  he  — 


246  MARIA   EDGEWORTH 

Edwin.     He-      Who? 

Cherry.     Who  ?     Whom  do  you  mean  by  he  ? 

Philip.  Felix  !  He  must  mean  Felix  !  There  is  nobody  else 
in  the  world  could  be  ill-natured  enough  to  do  such  a  thing. 

Edwin.  But  let  us  hear  what  he  has  done,  for  we  have  heard 
nothing  yet. 

Willy.  Why,  Master,  I  had  been  ever  so  long  looking  for  my 
dog,  that  was  wanted  to  rehearse  his  part  in  the  play,  along 
with  the  rest,  as  he  was  very  well  able  to  do;  and  just  when  I 
had  found  him,  and  as  we  were  coming  along  the  path  together 
by  the  water-side,  whom  should  we  meet  but  Mr.  Felix.  So, 
not  having  seen  he1  since  he  came  from  Lon'on  town,  I  takes  off 
my  hat,  and  asks  him  how  he  does,  as  civil  as  needs  be,  and  was 
then  passing  on  in  haste  — "  Where,  now  ?  in  such  a  hurry," 
says  he,  standing  across  my  way.  So,  in  as  few  words  as  might 
be,  I  told  him  all  about  your  play,  Mr.  Edwin.  '"Give  up  this 
here  nonsensical  play,"  says  he,  "  and  I'll  show  you  how  to  do 
something  better."  "Give  it  up  !  No,  that  I  won't,"  says  I  ; 
"and  as  to  showing  us  something  better,  I  doubt  if  you  could, 
sir,"  says  I.  On  this,  he  used  some  uncivil  words  about  you, 
Master  Edwin ;  which  I,  not  thinking  myself  bound  to  bear, 
made  answer  in  my  turn,  that  you  were  as  good  as  he,  and  bet- 
ter, and  cleverer  too,  though  so  be  you  had  not  been  to  Lon'on. 
"  Say  that  again,"  says  he,  "  and  I'll  give  you  as  good  a  ducking 
as  ever  you  had  in  your  life."  So  I  said  it  again,  and  he  shoved 
me  into  the  river,  I  not  thinking  he  would  do  such  a  thing  ; 
for  if  I  had,  I  would  have  stood  this  way,  and  defied  him,  so  1 
would.  But  not  being  on  my  guard,  souse  I  went,  and  my  dog 
after  me.  Well !  I  should  not  have  minded  at  all,  only  Mi. 
Felix  had  the  malice  to  throw  a  stone  at  my  Keeper  as  he  was 
scrambling  up  the  bank,  and  his  poor  leg  is  so  hurt  he  can't 
walk  on  it ;  and  so  he  can't  do  his  part  to-night  in  the  play, 
which  is  what  grieves  me  more  than  all,  because  he  had  it  so 
pat,  and  I  had  taken  such  a  world  of  pains  to  teach  him.  Not 

1  The  misuse  of  he  for  him  is  common  among  the  uneducated  in  England. 


THE  D'AME  SCHOOL  HOLIDAY  247 

but  what  he  learned  as  fast  as  a  dog  could  learii.     Poor  fellow  ! 
Poor  fellow ! 

Philip.  Poor  fellow  !  Cherry,  let  us  go  and  ask  Mamma  to 
give  us  something  for  him  to  eat. 

Edwin.  And  come  with  me,  Willy,  that  I  may  get  you 
dried,  and  give  you  some  clean  clothes. 

Willy.  Oh,  no,  thank  you,  Master,  I  did  not  come  here  to 
beg  for  clothes ;  and  as  to  being  wet,  I  don't  mind  it  a  farth- 
ing. And  as  I  was  in  a  good  cause,  I  don't  think  it  a  shame  to 
be  ducked.  I  did  not  come  here  to  beg  for  pity,  do  you  see? 
But,  Master  Edwin,  you  could  do  me  a  great  favor. 

Edwin.     What  is  it?     Whatever  it  is,  if  I  can  do  it,  I  will. 

Willy.  Don't  say  that  before  you  know  what  it  is,  for  fear 
you  should  repent  afterward. 

Edwin.  No  ;  I  am  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  that.  Speak  — 
tell  me  what  it  is  I  can  do  for  you. 

Willy.  Why,  Master,  I  heard  say  that  the  King's  birthday 
could  be  put  off  ;  now  if  your  father's  birthday  could  be  put 
off  for  a  few  days,  just  till  my  dog's  leg  is  well  enough  for  him 
to  act  —  for  without  him  it  will  be  nothing.  No,  I  won't  say 
that ;  but  all  the  pleasure  to  me  would  be  lost.  All  ?  No,  I 
don't  say  all.  In  short,  I  don't  know  how  to  ask  such  a  thing  ; 
but  I  do  wish  the  play  could  be  put  off  till  Keeper's  leg  is 
well. 

Edwin.  It  shall  be  put  off.  You  need  say  no  more.  I  will 
go  to  my  father  this  moment,  and  tell  him  what  has  happened. 
I  promised  you,  Willy,  that  I  would  do  anything  you  asked 
me,  and  to  be  sure  I  keep  my  word.  Now  go  home  and  take 
off  your  wet  clothes,  and  all  I  ask  of  you  is  that  you  will  for- 
give Felix,  and  let  us  have  no  quarrels  in  our  village. 

Willy.  I'll  forgive  him,  and  I'll  never  say  a  word  more 
about  it.  (Exit  Edwin. ) 

Well !      I  am  very,  very  much  obliged  to   Master  Edwin 
for   putting   off   the   play  till   my  poor  dog's   leg   is  well  — 
more  obliged  than  if  he  had  given  me  ever  so  many  coats 
and  hats.      That  is  really  good-natured  of   him,  and  I  love 


248  MARIA  EDGEWORTH 

him  for  it.     But  he  is  always  so  ;    he  never  thinks  of  himself 
when  he  can  do  a  kind  thing  to  another. 

(Enter  Cherry  and  Philip,  with  a  plate  of  meat  for  the  dog. ) 

Philip.     So  the  play  is  put  off ! 

Cherry.     So  the  play  is  put  off ! 

Philip.  Let  us  give  poor  Keeper  the  meat,  at  any  rate  ;  it 
is  not  his  fault. 

Cherry.     No,  it's  Felix's  fault.     Here,  Keeper  \  Keeper ! 

(They  feed  the  dog.} 

Philip.  Willy,  you  must  go  home  directly,  and  take  off 
your  wet  clothes ;  Edwin  bid  me  not  let  you  stay.  It  is  not 
very  civil,  I  know,  to  turn  you  out  of  the  house ;  but  it  is  for 
your  good. 

Willy.  That  I  am  sure  it  is,  when  Master  Edwin  desired  it. 
A  good  morning  to  you,  and  thank  you  for  being  so  kind 
to  Keeper.  Come  along,  poor  fellow !  Poor  fellow !  Come 
along;  I  won't  walk  too  fast  for  you.  (Exit  Will//.) 

Cherry.  Oh,  my  dear  Philip,  are  you  not  sorry  that  poor 
Edwin's  play  is  not  to  be  acted  to-night? 

Philip.  Very,  very  sorry  indeed ;  but  as  soon  as  Keeper 
gets  well,  it  will  be  acted.  I  will  tell  you  what,  Cherry,  as 
my  father's  birthday  is  to  be  put  off,  we  should  take  down  all 
these  flowers,  and  wait  till  the  day  when  Edwin's  play  is  to  be 
acted,  before  we  show  my  father  our  bower. 

Cherry.  What !  Pull  down  all  our  work  —  all  our  beautiful 
garlands  —  all  we  have  been  doing  since  five  o'clock  this  morn- 
ing —  all  our  bower  —  all  ? 

Philip.  Yes,  all ;  because  it  would  be  good-natured  to 
Edwin  to  keep  it  all  for  the  day  when  he  has  his  play.  Oh, 
Cherry,  my  dear,  let  us  be  good-natured  to  Edwin,  who  is  so 
good  to  us,  and  to  everybody. 

Cherry.  Well,  do  —  pull  it  all  down,  then  ;  and  when  you 
have  done,  tell  me,  and  —  I  will  look  up. 

(  Cherry  sits  down  and  hides  her  face  with  her  hands.    Philip 
tears  down  the  branches  and  flowers.^) 


THE  DAME  SCHOOL  HOLIDAY  249 

Philip.     Look  up,  Cherry  ;  it  is  all  down. 

Cherry.  All  down !  (After  a  pause. )  I  will  help  you  to 
carry  the  flowers  away.  It  is  a  great  pity ! 

Philip.  But  we  can  make  it  as  pretty  again  another  day. 
Come,  help  me  to  drag  these  great  boughs. 

(^Exeunt,  dragging  off  the  boughs.^) 

ACT  m. 

SCENE  I.  —  Felix  and  Miss  Balberly. 

Miss  Babberly.  To  be  insulted  in  this  manner  by  a  parcel 
of  beggarly  brats  and  an  obstinate  old  woman ! 

Felix.  But  what  provokes  me  is  that  this  Edwin  has  be- 
come quite  King  of  the  village,  and  nothing  is  to  be  done  con- 
trary to  his  will  and  pleasure ;  and  what  a  rout  about  his 
father's  birthday  and  his  own  nonsensical  play.  I  gave  a  little 
rascal  and  his  dog  one  good  ducking,  however,  for  talking  to 
me  about  it.  Edwin  is  so  cursedly  conceited,  too ;  for  I  was 
giving  him  an  account  of  the  Lon'on  plays,  and  he  did  not  seem 
to  admire  them  at  all. 

Miss  Babberly.  Admire  them  !  No ;  he  admires  nothing  but 
himself.  He  told  somebody,  who  told  Jenny  Parrot,  who  told 
me,  that  he  did  not  see  anything  to  be  admired  in  me  —  the 
quiz ! 

Felix:  Quiz,  indeed  !  You'll  see  how  finely  I'll  quiz  him  be- 
fore this  day's  over.  This  foolish  play  of  his  shall  not  be 
acted,  I  promise  him ;  and  all  the  people  whom  he  has  invited 
shall  stand  staring  at  one  another,  like  a  parcel  of  fools,  and 
he,  fool,  in  the  middle. 

Miss  Babberly.     But  how  ?     How  ? 

Felix.  Oh,  leave  that  to  me  ;  I  have  contrived  it  all.  Look 
at  this  key.  This  is  the  key  of  the  summer-house  in  the  bowl- 
ing green,  where  they  have  their  famous  theater.  It  was  lying 
on  the  table  at  the  porter's  lodge  just  now,  when  I  was  there, 
and  a  bright  thought  came  into  my  head  at  the  moment. 


250  MARIA   EDGEWOETH 

So  I  put  an  old  key,  which  is  just  the  same  size,  in  its  place, 
and  no  one  will  perceive  the  difference  till  night ;  and  then, 
just  when  the  company,  and  the  actors  and  actresses,  and 
Mr.  Manager,  and  all,  want  the  key,  they  will  stand  staring 
at  one  another,  and  at  last  will  be  forced  to  go  home  like 
fools  as  they  are  —  for  not  one  of  'em  would  have  the  spirit 
to  break  open  a  gentleman's  door.  Oh,  they'll  be  finely 
quizzed. 

Miss  Babberly.  Excellent !  Excellent !  And  those  imperti- 
nent children  will  be  punished,  just  as  they  ought,  for  their 
great  insolence  to  me.  Did  you  ever,  in  all  your  life,  hear  of 
anything  so  impertinent  as  their  tying  me  up  in  my  own 
scarf  ? 

Felix.     What !     Did  they  tie  you  up  quite  tight,  Bab  ? 

Miss  Babberly.     Quite  tight. 

Felix.     With  your  arms  in,  close  to  your  sides? 

Miss  Babberly.     Yes,  just  so. 

Felix.  Capital !  You  must  have  looked  exactly  like  a 
mummy,  Bab;  I  wish  I'd  seen  you.  (Lauyhs  aloud.) 

Miss  Babberly.  Mummy,  indeed !  Brother,  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  laugh  so,  like  a  horse. 

Felix.     Horse  !     Indeed,  Miss  Bab.     Let  me  tell  you,  Miss  — 


(Enter  Edwin.') 

Edwin.     I  hope  I  don't  interrupt  you. 

Felix.     No  ;  we  were  only  —  only  — 

Miss  Babberly.  Not  at  all,  Sir  ;  we  were  only  —  (Miss  Bab- 
berly makes  him  a  scornful,  awkward,  half -courtesy,  half-botv.) 

Edwin.  I  am  come  to  tell  you,  Felix,  that  we  have  given  up 
all  intention  of  acting  my  play  to-night. 

Felix.  Really!  (Aside.)  Then  I  can't  quiz  him;  how 
provoking ! 

Miss  Babberly.  Then  I  suppose  we  can  have  Dame  Debo- 
rah's benches  ? 


THE  DAME  SCHOOL   HOLIDAY  251 

Edwin.  Not  to-night.  Miss  Babberly  will  not  ask  for  them, 
J  am  .sure,  because  the  children  and  the  people  of  the  village 
will  want  them ;  for,  instead  of  the  play,  they  are  to  have  a 
little  dance. 

Miss  Babberly.     Dance  !     And  where  will  you  get  beaus  ? 

Edwin.  We  shall  not  want  beaus,  for  we  shall  have  no 
belles.  Felix  told  me  that  all  your  family  have  company  at 
home. 

Felix.     But,  pray,  how  could  you  give  up  your  play  ? 

Edwin.  Very  easily;  I  would  give  up  anything  to  avoid 
disputes. 

Felix.  Disputes  !  Why,  I  thought  you  had  everything  your 
own  way  in  this  place.  I  thought  you  were  Lord  Paramount1 
here. 

Miss  Babberly.  Yes ;  I  thought  you  had  partisans  enough 
here,  Sir. 

Edwin.  Far  from  wishing  to  have  partisans,  or  to  be  the 
cause  of  quarrel,  I  am  ready  to  give  up  my  own  schemes, 
you  see.  We  are  all  very  happy  in  this  village,  and  do  let 
us  continue  to  be  so ;  let  us  all  be  good  friends. 

Felix.  To  be  sure  —  certainly  —  I  have  no  objection.  But 
I  really  do  not  see  exactly  what  you  would  be  at.  Disputes ! 
Quarrels !  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Edwin.  What  do  I  mean,  Felix  ?  You  cannot  have  for- 
gotten poor  little  Willy  and  his  dog. 

Felix  (embarrassed}.  As  to  that,  I  remember  the  little  scoun- 
drel was  impertinent  to  me,  and  I  gave  him  and  his  dog  a  duck- 
ing ;  that's  all. 

Edwin.  And  nearly  broke  the  dog's  leg.  Was  Willy  imper- 
tinent ?  I  did  not  understand  that. 

Felix.  Well,  no  matter  how  it  was ;  if  he  put  me  in  a  pas- 
sion, he  must  take  the  consequences.  Mr.  Edwin,  you  always 
take  the  part  of  every  vulgar  fellow  against  me ;  and,  let  me 
tell  you,  Sir,  I  do  not  think  this  very  genteel  conduct. 

1  Lord  Paramount,  the  chief,  or  person  having  the  greatest  power  or  influence. 


252  MARIA  EDGEWORTH 

Miss  Babberly.  And  I  assure  you,  Sir,  if  you  expect  me  to 
be  at  your  dance  this  evening,  I  have  the  pleasure  to  assure 
you  that  you  will  be  disappointed. 

{Exit  Miss  Babberly,  tossing  her  head.) 

Felix.     That's  right,  Sister ;  there's  a  girl  of  spirit ! 

Edwin.  I  shall  never  think  you  a  boy  of  spirit,  after  what 
I  have  now  heard  and  seen.  {Exit  Edwin. ) 

Felix  {going  out  at  the  opposite  door).  I'll  make  you  repent 
of  this  before  the  sun  goes  down.  {Exit.) 

SCENE  II.  —  Philip  and  Cherry  at  their  own  house,  with  a  large 
basket  of  strawberries  and  a  bowl  of  cream. 

Cherry.  After  joy  comes  sorrow ;  after  sorrow  comes  joy. 
Though  we  did  pull  down  our  garlands,  and  though  we  did 
give  up  Edwin's  play,  we  shall  be  very  happy  to-night ;  and 
we  shall  make  all  the  children  at  the  Dame's  so  happy  with 
these  strawberries  and  cream !  Wasn't  Mamma  very  good  to 
let  us  gather  so  many,  and  to  give  us  such  a  great  quantity  of 
nice  cream  ? 

Philip.  Yes ;  but  I  am  thinking  how  we  can  carry  it  with- 
out spilling  it,  as  far  as  the  Dame  School. 

Cherry.  As  the  milkmaids  do.  Put  it  on  my  head,  and  you 
shall  see  how  well  I  can  carry  it. 

Philip.  No,  no,  I  will  carry  it ;  for  I  am  better  able  than 
you,  and  stronger,  and  wiser.  {He  tries  to  carry  the  bowl  on  his 
head. ) 

Cherry.  My  Dear !  My  Dear !  It  is  spilling,  in  spite  of  all 
your  strength  and  wisdom ;  besides,  boys  are  never  milk' 
maids. 

Philip.  But  you  know  it  is  the  part  of  a  woman  not  to  dis- 
pute about  trifles  with  a  man. 

Cherry.  Well,  I  will  not  dispute  ;  now  give  it  me  — 
{Meekly,  and  putting  her  hands  before  her. )  Pray ! 

Philip.  So  I  will,  because  you  are  so  gentle  and  good- 
humored  ;  besides,  I  know  it  is  the  part  of  a  man  to  give  up 


THE  DAME  SCHOOL  HOLIDAY  253 

to  a  woman  if  she  does  not  dispute  —       (Places  the  bowl  on 
her  head.)     Only  don't  tumble  down,  that's  all  I  ask  of  you. 
Cherry.     Tumble,  my  Dear !     Look  how  steadily  I  carry  it. 

(Exeunt.) 

SCENE   III.  —  Mr.    Babberly' s   house.       Miss    Babberly  and 

Felix. 

Miss  Babberly.  Do  you  know,  I've  been  explaining  to  Papa 
all  about  the  behavior  of  Dame  Deborah,  and  her  rudeness 
about  the  benches,  and  telling  him  what  a  party  there  is  made 
against  us  here  in  the  village ;  and  he  says  he  can  punish  that 
old  beldam,  and  have  her  benches  in  spite  of  her,  and  this  very 
night,  too. 

Felix.  This  night,  can  he?  I'm  glad  of  that,  for  it  will 
humble  Edwin's  pride.  She  and  all  those  stupid  children  are 
his  partisans,  and  under  his  protection,  I  see ;  and  he  is  always 
doing  things  to  make  himself  popular.  You  see  that,  though 
the  play  is  given  up,  he  will  give  them  a  dance  to-night.  The 
peddler,  who  cut  his  leg,  and  who  stays  at  their  house,  can  play 
on  the  fiddle,  and  he  will  be  their  music.  And  I  saw  the 
children  carrying  such  baskets  of  strawberries  and  bowls  of 
cream.  They  are  determined  to  keep  their  father's  birthday, 
it  seems,  to  provoke  us ;  but  maybe  we  shall  be  too  many  for 
them,  yet. 

Miss  Babberly.     My  father  will  manage  that  for  you. 

Felix.     Manage  that !     How?     How?     Oh,  tell  me  how  ! 

Miss  Babberly.  I  will  tell  you  how  he  will  manage  it.  Dame 
Deborah  is  his  tenant.  She  forgets  that ;  and  she  forgets  that 
she  hasn't  paid  her  rent,  nor  can't,  he  says,  for  her  cow  has 
just  died  —  and  so  he'll  send  Bateman,  the  bailiff,  down  to  seize 
all  she  has,  this  very  evening,  and  the  benches  first  and  fore- 
most. 

Felix.     Joe,  triumph  !  Joe,  triumph  ! 

Miss  Babberly.  Come,  you'll  hear  him  giving  orders  this 
minute .  (Exeunt. ) 


254  MARIA   EDGE  U  'OR  TH 


SCENE  IV. — A  meadow  near  Dame  Deborah's  cottage;  Dame 
Deborah  setting  out  a  table  with  a  large  bowl  of  cream,  and 
children  with  baskets  of  strawberries ;  Cherry  and  Philip  dis- 
tributing the  strawberries  ;  Edwin  setting  the  benches  to  the  table  ; 
the  peddler  tuning  his  fiddle. 

Philip.     Now  everybody  lias  strawberries. 

Cherry.  And  let  everybody  pick  for  himself.  (  The  children 
begin  eating.) 

Edwin.  But  Philip,  you  have  forgot  your  poor  fiddler,  here ; 
isn't  he  to  have  any? 

Philip.     He  shall  have  half  of  mine. 

Cherry.  And  half  of  mine.  (  They  give  him  a  plate  of  straw- 
berries. ) 

Philip.  I  will  put  your  fiddle  out  of  your  way,  for  it  will 
be  an  hour  before  we  are  ready  for  it.  Picking  strawberries 
is  a  serious  affair. 

Edwin.  But  then,  consider  that  Dame  Deborah  came  out 
on  purpose  to  see  you  all  dance ;  and  if  you  are  so  long  before 
you  begin,  the  sun  will  set,  and  it  will  be  too  late  for  her  to 
stay  out. 

Dame.  Never  mind  me,  Dears — please  yourselves,  and  never 
mind  me. 

Rose.  Oh,  yes,  but  we  will  mind  you.  We  can't  please 
ourselves  without  minding  you.  Let  us  dance  before  we  eat 
our  strawberries,  that  we  may  not  keep  our  Dame  out  in  the 
night  dew. 

All.  Yes,  yes,  yes.  (They  push  away  their  strawberries,  and 
all  rise  and  get  ready  to  dance. ) 

Peddler.     What  tune  shall  I  play,  Master?     (To  Edwin.) 

Edwin.     "  Rural  Felicity." 

(He  plays  u  Rural  Felicity ',"  and  the  children  dance.  While 
they  are  dancing,  enter  Felix  with  the  bailiff.  Miss  Bab- 
berly  follows.) 

Dame.     What  comes  here?     What  is  all  this? 


255 

Miss  Babberly.  All  this  is  what  you've  brought  on  yourself, 
old  woman,  by  your  stubbornness. 

Felix.     Bateman,  do  your  duty.     There  are  the  benches. 

Miss  Babberly.  Ay ;  if  you  had  lent  them  to  us  by  fair 
means,  it  would  have  been  better  for  you. 

Bateman  (pushing  by  Edwin).  By  your  leave,  sir!  By  your 
leave,  Dame  !  (Takes  hold  of  the  end  of  the  bench  on  which  Dame 
Deborah  is  sitting. y  My  orders  be  to  seize  all  this  household 
furniture  here,  for  rent  and  arrears,  due  to  J.  Babberly,  Esq. 

Dame.  What,  all  my  little  goods  !  All  —  and  all  on  such  a 
night  as  this ! 

(She  clasps  her  hands  in  an  agony;   the  children  gather 
round  her  in  consternation. ) 

Philip  (to  Felix).     You  cruel  creature  ! 

Cherry.     Poor  Dame  Deborah  !     Poor,  good  Dame  Deborah  ! 

Rose.     Oh,  what  can  we.  do  for  her  ? 

Nancy.     Oh,  is  there  nothing  we  can  do  for  her? 

Mary.     I  never  saw  her  cry  before.     (Dame  wipes  her  eyes.} 

Dame.  God's  will  be  done  !  God's  will  be  done  !  He  has 
left  me  these —  (She  stoops  and  kisses  the  children.}  Don't 
cry,  Dears  —  don't  you  cry,  or  I  can't  help  it.  Well,  sir  (to 
the  bailiff),  as  Mr.  Felix  says,  do  your  duty. 

Edwin  (springing forward).  Stop,  stop!  How  much  is  the 
debt? 

Bateman.     Seven  guineas. 

Edwin.    I  have  only  four ;  but  here  is  my  watch ;  it  is  worth— 

Felix  (interrupting^.  No  matter  what  it  is  worth,  it  won't 
do ;  the  rent  is  to  be  paid  in  money.  I  heard  my  father  read 
the  lease  ;  and  ready  money  is  the  words  mentioned  in  the  lease. 
Bateman,  carry  off  the  benches. 

Peddler  (coming  forward).  Master  Edwin,  if  you  want 
ready  money,  if  you  be  pleased,  I  can  let  you  have  it. 

(Grives  guineas.^) 

Edwin.   '  Thank  you,  my  good  friend ;  take  my  watch. 

Peddler.  No,  Master,  no  ;  I'll  not  take  the  watch.  I'll  take 
your  word  —  that's  enough. 


256  MARIA   EDGE  WORTH 

Edwin.  Mr.  Felix  Babberly,  here  is  the  whole  of  what  is 
due  to  you,  or  to  your  father,  in  ready  money.  Now,  let  go 
this  bench,  if  you  please. 

Felix.  Very  well,  sir ;  vastly  well,  Sir.  I  will  be  revenged 
some  time  or  other,  you'll  see. 

Miss  Babberly.  Yes,  yes,  you  have  not  done  with  us  yet,  I 
promise  you.  But  go  on  with  your  vulgar  diversions,  and  wel- 
come ;  and  be  assured  we  don't  want  to  be  of  the  party.  It  is 
not  such  dancing  as  this,  and  such  parties  as  these,  we  have 
been  used  to  in  Lon'on,  I  can  tell  you ;  and  I  will  make  Papa 
live  in  Lon'on.  Come  away,  Brother  Felix. 

{Exit  Miss  Babberly. } 

Felix  (aside).  So  they  will  have  their  dance,  and  be  happy, 
in  spite  of  us !  How  provoking  !  (Exit  Felix. ) 

Cherry.     How  excessively  ugly  he  looked ! 

Philip.  Yes ;  people  always  look  ugly  when  they  are  in  a 
passion. 

Dame.  Handsome  is  that  handsome  does  (turning  to  Ed- 
win). Mr.  Edwin,  how  shall  I  thank  you?  But  your  own 
good  heart  thanks  you  enough. 

Willy.  Yes,  that  it  does,  I'll  answer  for  it.  See  how  happy 
he  looks ! 

Edwin.     What  a  pity  that  Felix  cannot  be  so  happy  — 

Dame.     As  good,  you  mean? 

Philip.  Oh,  let  us  think  no  more  of  Felix.  It  is  very 
disagreeable  to  think  of  bad  people. 

Cherry.  Especially  on  Papa's  birthday ;  so  let  us  go  on 
dancing. 

( Cherry  and  the  rest  of  the  children  join   hands,  and   she 
sings  as  they  dance.) 

"  Come,  follow,  follow  me, 
Ye  fairy  elves  that  be  ; 
Light  tripping  o'er  the  green, 
Come,  follow  Mab  your  queen,"  etc. 

(Exeunt.) 


SCRIBE 
WILLIS 


8CH.    IN   COM. 17 


EUGENE  SCRIBE 

THE  theater-going  public  refuses  to  be  entertained  as  formerly.  For  a 
generation  there  has  been  an  ever-increasing  demand  for  light  comedy. 
The  popular  taste  demands  not  only  constant  movement  and  bright  play 
of  words,  but  also  light  music  and  comic  ballads  interspersed. 

The  "  most  popular  playwright  of  France  "  was  a  writer  of  vaudevilles. 
He  was  a  man  who  "  never  pleased  and  never  can  please  any  critic  who 
applies  purely  literary  tests."  Yet  he  seemed  to  know  by  an  unerring 
instinct  how  to  please  his  loved  Parisians,  and  he  served  them  faithfully, 
humoring  every  whim  and  caprice.  He  was  the  dramatic  star  of  France  in 
the  reign  of  the  Citizen  King  and  of  Napoleon  III. ;  and  he  leaves  no  suc- 
cessor to  the  place  which  he  held  in  popular  favor. 

Eugene  Scribe  (uh-zhane'  screeb)  was  born  at  Paris  in  1791.  He  passed 
his  life  in  his  native  city,  and  died  in  1861.  His  father  was  a  silk  merchant 
of  ample  fortune,  who  marked  out  for  the  son  a  career  in  the  legal  profes- 
sion. Young  Scribe  did  not  fancy  the  law.  He  began,  at  the  age  of  twenty, 
to  write  for  the  stage.  His  earlier  productions  were  anonymous,  and  it  is 
not  known  to  a  certainty  what  was  his  first  complete  play.  At  twenty-five 
he  became  famous ;  and  thereafter,  for  forty-five  years,  he  wrote  incessantly. 
To  a  single  theater  he  supplied  more  than  a  hundred  dramas. 

His  industry  was  equaled  only  by  his  sense  of  honor  and  his  generosity. 
Always  ready  to  assist  other  writers,  he  wrote  much  in  company  with  less- 
favored  dramatists,  and  seemed  never  to  fear  that  he  might  endanger  his 
own  interests  by  building  up  rivals. 

The  liberality  of  Moliere  was  again  exhibited  in  the  person  of  Scribe, 
who,  in  fact,  seems  to  have  surpassed  in  this  respect  all  other  writers  for  the 
stage.  On  more  than  one  occasion  he  acknowledged  the  moral  "  copyright 
of  ideas,"  and  gave  compensation  to  others  from  whom  he  had  indirectly 
received  some  suggestion  —  they  being  unconscious  of  his  appropriation 
of  any  thought  of  theirs  until  assured  of  the  fact  by  the  high-minded 
playwright. 

For  many  years  after  his  death,  no  one  pretended  to  publish  a  complete 
collection  of  his  plays,  though  there  is  now  issued  in  Paris  a  library  of  fifty 
volumes  made  up  of  Scribe's  dramas  and  claiming  to  include  them  all. 

His  best  dramatic  productions  are  La  Chaine  (the  chain),  Le  Verre  d'Eau 
(the  glass  of  water),  and  Adrienne  Lecouvreur ;  the  first  two  of  which 
appeared  in  1842,  and  the  last  in  1849. 

269 


260 


EUGENE  SCRIBE 


Scribe's  librettos  of  operas  were  peculiarly  happy  in  their  execution,  and 
will  be  long  in  use.  His  writings  of  a  general  literary  character  are  already 
forgotten. 

The  Two  Preceptors;  or,  As'inus  As'inum  Fric'at  (donkey  rubs  donkey) 
was  written  in  1817,  when  (he  author  was  twenty-six  years  of  age.  One 
Moreau  is  believed  to  have  been  associated  with  him  in  its  preparation. 
The  French  are  said  to  enjoy  their  own  foibles  portrayed  in  comedy.  No 
class  of  Parisians  more  thoroughly  enjoyed  Moliere's  Le  Bourgeois  than  the 
Bourgeois  themselves.  Probably  the  French  charlatans  in  education  have 
relished  Scribe's  delineation  of  pretenders  of  their  own  class. 

Scribe  is  differently  viewed  by  different  critics.  Louis  Pujol  says  of  him  : 
"  M.  Scribe  is  to  strangers  the  representative  Parisian,  and  will  remain  to 
posterity  one  of  the  best  painters  of  the  manners  of  our  era."  An  eminent 
English  writer,  who  admits  Scribe's  marvelous  mastery  of  the  mechanism 
of  the  stage  and  of  the  tastes  of  his  audience,  says  :  "  Nevertheless,  he  hardly 
deserves  a  place  in  literature.  His  style  is  vulgar,  his  characters  common- 
place ;  even  his  plots  lacking  power  and  grasp." 

Alcee  Fortier,  a  distinguished  American  critic,  in  a  recent  work  pro- 
nounces Scribe  as  "fruitful"  as  Dumas;  and  while  he  fails  to  see  in  the 
popular  dramatist  always  a  true  student  of  manners,  yet  he  predicts  that 
the  dramas  of  Scribe  will  be  played  for  a  long  time  to  come. 


THE  TWO  PRECEPTORS;   OK,  ASINUS  ASINUM  FRICAT 
DRAMATIS  PERSONS  l 


M.  ROBERVILLE,  the  wealthy  pro- 
prietor of  a  chateau  at  La  Brie. 

CHARLES,  his  son. 

M.  CiNGLANT,2  a  schoolmaster. 

LEDRU,  alias  Jasmin,  alias  M.  St. 
Ange,  an  impostor. 


ANTOINE,  a  servant. 

JEANNETTE,  a  garden  maid,  niece  of 

M.  Cinglant. 

ELISE,  a  cousin  of  Charles. 
PEASANTS. 


1  Some  of  these  names  may  be  Anglicized.     The  French  pronunciation  is 
nearly  as  follows:  Monsieur,  or  M.  (moce-yur');   Charles  (sharl);   Roberville 
(ro-bair-veel');   Cinglant  (san-glon');   St.    Ange  (sant  onge');  Jasmin   (zhas- 
inan');  Ledru' ;  Antoine  (an-twon');  Jeannette  (zhon-nef);  £lise  (a-leez'). 

2  The  name  signifies  a  beater. 


THE   TWO  PRECEPTORS  261 

SCENE  I.  —  A    garden,  with  a  pavilion ;    to  the  right  a  hedge 
and  a  little  wall,  with  a  gate. 

(Jeannette  alone  and  at  work.     Elise  advances  on  tiptoe  along  the 

hedge.*) 

E Use.     Jeannette,  is  Uncle  there  ? 

Jeannette.  What,  is  it  you,  so  soon  again  ?  Why,  you've 
scarcely  been  in  your  room  ten  minutes. 

Elise.  Ten  minutes !  Why,  I've  been  practicing  on  the 
piano  an  hour,  at  least.  Listen.  A  person  does  need  some 
rest.  No  one  can  work  forever. 

Jeannette  (quitting  her  work).     But  it's  funny,  nevertheless. 

Elise.     What's  that  ?     It's  funny  ? 

Jeannette.  Yes.  Since  Monsieur  Charles,  your  cousin,  has 
come  back  from  Paris,  where  he  went  to  finish  his  education, 
one  wouldn't  know  the  chateau.  Even  your  uncle,  who  always 
used  to  be  absorbed  in  his  accounts,  does  nothing  but  watch 
after  his  son,  to  prevent  his  seeing  you.  All  day  long  he's 
shutting  the  door  and  going  by  the  window.  (Sings.) 

I  know  very  well  he  is  busy, 

His  problems  are  sadly  behind. 
If  a  prisoner  you're  seeking  to  make  him, 

He'll  surely  escape,  you  will  find. 
It  is  vain  that  you  wall  up  the  window, 

Put  gratings  on  every  door, 
For  Love  is  a  trickster,  who'll  surely 

Find  means  to  come  in,  as  before. 

SCENE  II.  —  The  same. 
(Charles  appears  on  the  top  of  the  wall,  at  the  right.*) 

Charles.     Elise,  Elise  !     It  is  I. 

Jeannette  (perceiving  him).  What  shall  I  say?  Ah,  well ! 
His  lessons  are  learned  forward  and  backward. 

Charles.  Listen  here,  Jeannette.  Why  does  my  father  wish 
to  make  a  scholar  of  me  ? 


262  EUGENE  SCRIBE 

Elise.     Charles  has  studied  long  enough,  of  course. 
Charles.     I've  been  at  it   six   years.     What   more  could  a 
person  ask?     (Sings.} 

O,  I  know  that  filise  is  a  darling, 

That  her  heart  is  revealed  in  her  eyes ; 
I  know  that  her  innocent  mischief 

Conceals  all  the  gifts  that  I  prize. 
I  know  she's  as  good  as  she's  charming ; 

My  cousin  loves  me,  and,  I  own, 

I  love  her,  I  love  her  alone. 
I  know  she's  as  good  as  she's  charming ; 

And  I  love  her,  I  love  her  alone. 

Elise  (sings  refrain). 

My  cousin  knows  that  to  perfection  — 
The  lesson  is  perfectly  known. 

Jeannette.  That's  just  what  I  hear  everybody  say.  Even 
my  uncle,  the  schoolmaster,  said  to  your  father  the  other  day, 
with  his  gesture  —  which  you  know  very  well  (striking  the  back 
of  her  left  hand  with  the  palm  of  her  right}  —  "I'm  afraid  he's 
growing  too  wise." 

Charles.  Do  you  hear  that  ?  I'm  getting  to  be  too  smart. 
So  good-by  to  books.  I'll  have  to  amuse  myself  —  that's  the 
only  thing  to  do.  Besides,  a  fellow  can't  work  when  he's  in 
love. 

^ 

Elise.     How  different  it  is  when  he's  married  ! 

Charles.     Then  they  can  study  together. 

Elise.     They  can  then  encourage  each  other. 

Charles.  You  don't  understand  it,  Jeannette.  Ah,  if  you 
had  ever  been  in  love  ! 

Jeannette.     O,  go  along.     I've  passed  through  all  that. 

Charles.     What ! 

Jeannette.  Pshaw  !  Do  I  work  more  than  you  ?  Why,  it's 
three  weeks  I've  been  working  on  this  apron,  and  see  how  far 
along  it  is.  And  that's  all  there  is  of  it  since  that  trip  I  made 
with  your  aunt.  (Sings.} 


THE  TWO  PEECEPTORS  263 

Ah,  the  country  boys  are  green ; 

At  the  girls  they  all  take  fright. 
Paris  boys  are  different, 
All  so  gallant  and  polite. 
Don't  you  see  ? 
For  a  lady,  look  at  me  1 
Don't  you  doubt, 
Travel  brings  a  person  out. 

But  the  country  greenies  all, 

It'  they  love,  their  love  will  stay. 
Paris  boys  are  different, 
And  they  love  another  way. 
Don't  you  see  ? 

Ah,  how  faithless  they  can  be ! 
Don't  you  doubt, 
Travel  brings  a  person  out. 

g 

Eli&e.  Well,  you've  not  told  us  about  it.  Was  he  young? 
Was  he  a  dear? 

Jeannette.  Ah,  Lady,  he  wasn't  like  us  peasants.  He  had  a 
gold-embroidered  coat. 

Charles.     A  gold-embroidered  coat  I 

Jeannette.     And  a  hat  to  match. 

Charles.  Ah,  I  understand.  He  was  a  valet  de  chambre,1  or 
something  like  that. 

Jeannette.  Yes,  but  he  ought  to  make  his  fortune.  He  said 
that  his  master,  who  had  chambers  in  la  rue  2  Helder,  had  com- 
menced like  himself,  and  that  he  wouldn't  think  anything 
impossible. 

Charles.     Ah,  well ! 

Jeannette.  When  Uncle  came  to  Paris,  to  get  his  license 
as  principal  of  the  primary  school,  he  brought  me  away  with 
Mm,  and  I  hadn't  even  a  chance  to  say  good-by  to  any  one. 
(Resumes  her  work.}  And  for  six  months  I've  done  nothing 
but  sigh. 

1  An  attendant,  or  footman.  2  The  street. 


264  EUGENE  SCEISE 

Charles.  Poor  little  Jeamiette !  I  promise  you  to  make 
inquiries;  and  after  we're  married,  you'll  find  —  but  I  must 
give  you  an  idea  I  have.  (Speaking  low.*)  There  is  some 
mischief  brewing  against  us,  here. 

Jeannette.     Heavens !  • 

•Charles.  For  some  time  my  father  has  had  long  talks  with 
the  schoolmaster. 

JSlise.     Yes,  they  seem  at  least  to  have  an  eye  on  us. 

Jeannette.     It's  a  shame. 

Elite.  Perhaps  they  suspect  something  about  the  little 
party  we're  to  give  to-night. 

Jeannette.  No,  Monsieur's  going  to  dine  in  the  city  to-day, 
for  he  has  called  for  his  horses  at  four  o'clock.  There's  some 
other  mischief. 

Charles.  Well,  let's  form  an  offensive  and  defensive  alli- 
ance, and  we  three  shall  see  if  we're  not  as  sharp  as 
they  are.  (Sings. ) 

Here  we're  safe,  ourselves  alone  — 

Youth  and  love  they'll  ne'er  subdue  ; 
For  success  will  ever  come 

To  the  heart  that's  brave  and  true. 

Jeannette  (sings'). 

Ah,  but  I  will  He  in  wait  — 

Watch  their  plans  to  interfere; 
And  their  schemes  I'll  ferret  out, 

If  a  single  word  I  hear. 

All  (sing}. 

Here  we're  safe,  ourselves  alone  — 

Youth  and  love  they'll  ne'er  subdue ; 
For  success  will  surely  come 

To  the  heart  that's  brave  and  true. 

Charles.  Above  all,  whatever  comes,  let's  have  no  fear,  and 
let's  stand  firm  —  Heavens  !  Here  comes  Father. 

(Elise  and  Jeannette  make  their  escape.^) 


THE  TWO   PRECEPTORS  265 

SCENE  III.  —  The  same. 
.  Roberville  enters  and  seizes  Charles  by  the  arm.} 


M.  Roberville.  Hold  on,  Sir  ;  hold  on.  So  this  is  the  way 
you  run  off  from  study  !  Do  you  think  that's  the  way  I  made 
my  fortune,  and  became  one  of  the  leading  proprietors  of  La 
Brie? 


To  live  in  the  seventh  story,  you  know, 

Not  once  in  a  month  outdoors  to  go, 

To  read  —  read  —  read,  and  to  pray  —  pray  —  pray,  — 

Was  the  life  of  a  boy  in  my  elder  day. 

To  take  their  taste  from  the  cock  of  the  walk, 

To  be  pedantical  in  their  talk, 

To  do  the  opera  and  the  play  — 

Is  the  life  of  the  youth  of  the  present  day. 

Charles  (sings). 

I  admire,  with  you,  the  sober  way 

Of  the  boys  and  girls  of  that  elder  day  ; 

But  times  are  changed,  and  I  dare  to  rhyme 

A  plea  for  the  rights  of  the  present  time. 

Nursed  in  our  childhood  on  Victory's  breast, 

We  will  shed  our  blood  at  our  land's  behest. 

Art  and  science  and  glory  sway 

The  hearts  of  the  youth  of  the  present  day. 

M.  Roberville.  I  tell  you  in  advance,  Sir,  that  I  am  not  to 
be  cajoled  by  your  fine  words.  I  have  taken  my  position, 
and  you  know  my  determination. 

Charles.     Well,  Father,  —  why  not  at  once  ? 

M.  Roberville.  Oh,  you  may  be  certain  it  won't  be  long; 
and  I  hope  that  this  very  day—  But  until  then,  you  are  at 
liberty. 

Charles  (aside}.  Didn't  I  say  that  he  was  plotting  some- 
thing ?  Now,  to  find  my  cousin  and  set  Jeannette  against 
them  !  (Exit.} 


266  EUGENE  SCRIBE 

SCENE  IV.  —  An  apartment  in  the  chateau. 
.  Roberville  and  M.  Cinglant  enter.) 


M.  Cinglant.  I  wonder  if  I  can  find  that  little  girl  !  (  To 
M.  Roberville.)  Beg  pardon;  I  am  looking  for  my  niece, 
Jeannette. 

M.  Rolerville.  O,  it's  you,  M.  Cinglant  !  Is  your  school 
closed  already  ? 

M.  Cinglant.  Yes.  (Makes  his  accustomed  gesture.1}  I 
hurried  it  through  promptly.  And  as  to  our  matter,  how  is 
it  arranged  ? 

M.  Roberville.  O,  indeed,  I  have  decided  to  follow  your 
advice. 

M.  Cinglant.  That's  not  all.  Rigorous  discipline  —  rigor- 
ous discipline  !  From  the  very  beginning  of  my  primary 
school  I  have  known  no  other  system  of  education.  Such  as 
you  see  me,  I  have  been  for  fifteen  years  —  a  corrector  of  the 
Mazarin2  style  —  and  I  dare  say  that  any  one  will  readily  rec- 
ognize those  who  have  passed  under  my  hands. 


O,  bruised  is  my  arm  become  —  come  —  come, 

From  beating  the  boys  like  a  drum  —  drum  —  drum  ! 

There's  young  La  Harpe,  what  he  owes  to  my  care  ! 

And  young  Chamfort  (shon-for'),  with  his  training  rare  I 

Still  in  my  heart  the  memory  lingers, 

How  I  have  whipped  their  tingling  fingers. 

All  my  work  is  their  later  success  ; 

Now,  alas,  for  I  must  confess, 

Gone,  ah,  gone  are  those  halcyon  days, 

Gone,  ah,  gone  are  those  halcyon  days  1 

Isn't  it  ridiculous,  I  say  —  say  —  say  — 

All  the  old  decorum  laid  away  —  way  —  way  ? 

1  Scribe  makes  a  special  point  of  this  gesture.     The  schoolmaster  is  not  only 
brutal  and  shallow,  but  is  affected  with  a  disgusting  mannerism. 

2  Mazarin  (maz-a-ran')  was  Prime  Minister  of  France  in  the  reign  of  Louis 
XIV.,  and  was  noted  for  the  rigor  of  his  measures. 


THE  TWO  PRECEPTORS  267 

Nobody  now  gets  the  birch  —  birch  —  birch  ; 

I,  with  my  rules,  am  in  the  lurch  —  lurch  —  lurch. 

But  let  me  calm  my  anger,  there's  a  light  —  light  —  light; 

All  is  not  lost  —  I've  a  chance  in  sight. 

Here's  a  young  gentleman,  my  pupil  he's  to  be, 

And  all  the  old-time  punishments  again  we'll  see. 

Back  again,  back  again  come  the  halcyon  days, 

Back  again,  back  again  come  the  halcyon  days  1 

But,  alas !     Your  son  is  now  too  large  to  be  kept  down. 

M.  Roberville.     So  I  see. 

M.  Cinglant.  He  must  have,  as  I  told  you,  a  good  and  very 
rigid  governor,1  who  will  watch  him  constantly  —  who  will 
even  have  to  live  at  your  chateau  for  that  purpose,  — 

M.  Roberville.     Of  course. 

M.  Cinglant.     Who  will  dine  always  at  your  table  — 

M.  Roberville.  That's  just  what  I  was  about  to  say.  I'll 
give,  besides,  a  thousand  crowns,  and  I  couldn't  do  less  for  a 
man  of  merit,  a  professor  of  the  Athenaeum. 

M.  Cinglant  (overwhelmed).     How  is  that?     It  isn't  — 

M.  Roberville.  He  will  arrive  this  very  day,  from  Paris. 
You  see,  I  haven't  lost  any  time  since  you  gave  me  the  idea, 
for  I  owe  as  much  to  you.  Moreover,  I  shall  never  forget  it ; 
and  your  niece  can  always  count  on  me.  Good-by,  my  dear 
Cinglant. 

M.  Cinglant.     Sir  —  certainly  —     My  earnestness  — 

SCENE  V.  —  Another  apartment. 
{M.  Cinglant  and  Jeannette  enter.') 

M.  Cinglant.     Zounds  !     I  am  choking  with  anger  ! 

Jeannette  (running  up).  O  Uncle,  Uncle  !  What  has  Mon- 
sieur Roberville  said  to  you? 

M.  Cinglant.  He  has  said  —  He  has  said  —  How  mad  I 
am !  Besides,  every  one  at  the  school  will  resent  it.  Isn't  it 

1  In  the  educational  system  of  Rousseau  (roo-so'),  the  tutor  is  called  a 
"governor." 


268 

abominable !  Board  and  lodgings  and  a  thousand  crowns ! 
When,  good  and  bad  years  together,  ray  primary  school  doesn't 
bring  in  three  hundred  livres  !  Well,  they'll  find  out  — 

Jeannette.     But,  Uncle  — 

M.  Cinglant.  Hold  your  tongue !  It's  lucky  for  you  that 
there's  no  school  for  girls  in  this  village.1 

Jeannette.     But  I  want  to  know  what's  the  matter  with  you. 

M.  Cinglant  (sings). 

He'll  be  sorry  for  it  soon, 

Very  soon. 
It's  a  horror  and  a  shame, 

All  the  same. 
They  shall  see  if  I'm  a  dunce, 

Just  for  once. 

Jeannette.     What  has  he  done,  I  want  to  know? 
M.  Cinglant  (sings). 

What  is  it  he  has  done  ? 

Well,  he's  gone 
And  imported  to  the  town  — 

Just  a  clown. 
Some  pedantic  good-for-naught 

He  has  caught, 
Just  as  I  weren't  near, 

Do  you  hear  ? 
What's  the  need  to  send  away 

For  a  jay? 

Jeannette.     True  ;  that's  very  unjust. 

M.  Cinglant.  But  we  shall  see  about  this  governor!  Be- 
sides, M.  Charles  won't  endure  him,  and  he'll  aid  me  to  put 
him  out.  We'll  all  be  against  him — won't  we,  Jeannette? 

Jeannette  (aside).     Here's  a  conspiracy  ! 

M.  Cinglant.  Let  me  know  when  this  young  phenomenon 
arrives. 

Jeannette.     Rest  easy  as  to  that. 

1  Evidently  the  schoolmaster  regards  the  school  as  a  place  of  punishment,  and 
really  considers  his  niece  lucky. 


THE  TWO  PEECEPTOL3  269 

SCENE  VI.  —  The  hall  of  the  chateau. 
(Jeannette  alone.) 

Jeannette.  Let's  see,  now,  who's  to  be  expected.  A  philo- 
mene !  Ah,  well,  M.  Charles  had  good  reason  to  fear  some 
misfortune.  But  what's  that  I  hear? 

SCENE  VII.  —  The  same. 
(Jeannette.     Ledru  entering.') 

Ledru  (speaking  off,  to  porter).  No,  I  thank  you,  I  have  no 
trunk  or  valise.  I  don't  like  to  be  burdened,  while  traveling. 
Isn't  there  any  one  here  to  announce  me  ? 

Jeannette.     Who  is  this  gentleman? 

Ledru  (seemingly  preoccupied,  and  not  looking  at  Jeannette). 
Will  you  be  kind  enough,  Miss,  to  announce  to  your  master 
that  a  distinguished  scholar  whom  he  is  expecting  to-day  — 

Jeannette  (looking  at  him  attentively).     O  Heavens  !     It  is  he  ! 

Ledru.  It  is,  really,  he.  There  is  no  doubt  of  that,  since  I 
tell  you  so.  Announce  the  governor  of  his  son. 

Jeannette  (perplexed  and  continuing  to  look  at  him).  The 
governor!  O  well,  but  —  pardon  me,  Sir —  (Aside.)  It's  just 
as  I  thought !  (Aloud.)  I  thought  —  I'll  go  and  tell  him  you 
are  here.  (Aside.)  There  are  some  coincidences  —  and  some 
resemblances  —  Heavens,  but  it's  surprising!  (Exit  Jeannette.) 

SCENE  VIII.  —  The  same. 
(Ledru  alone.) 

Ledru.  What's  the  matter  with  this  girl?  I  haven't 
stared  at  her !  But  she  seems  surprised  to  see  a  man  like  me. 
(Soliloquizing.}  Come,  Ledru,  now  for  your  cheek!  I  have 
done  everything  in  my  life,  and  I  shall  do  the  savant  well. 
Besides,  I  have  the  ideas  to  begin  with.  I  may  say  that  I 


270  EUGENE  SCRIBE- 

know  something  of  ante-chamber  literature,  though  it  be  only 
the  novels  I  read  about  the  stove  when  I  was  a  lackey.  And 
then,  wasn't  I  for  several  months  in  the  service  of  a  professor  in 
the  Athenaeum,  and  a  journalist?  That  prepares  for  the  pro- 
fession. Now,  not  to  lose  any  time,  and  to  sum  it  up  —  ( Takes 
a  note-book  and  some  papers  from  his  coat  pocket.)  My  master 
had  accepted  from  M.  Roberville  the  position  of  tutor  of  his 
children,  some  little  tots  that  any  one  could  manage  at  his 
pleasure.  Board  and  lodgings  and  a  thousand  crowns  for 
salary  —  we  won't  forget  that  at  all !  My  master  falls  sick, 
and  writes  a  second  letter,  withdrawing  from  the  engagement. 
1  was  the  one  to  mail  the  letter.  Instead  of  that,  I  put  it  into 
my  pocket.  I  call  for  my  time,  and  here  I  come,  in  the  capac- 
ity of  a  tutor.  It  seems  to  me  already  that  it  is  a  pretty  dar- 
ing plan.  But,  on  the  whole,  I  am  sure  that  I  will  not  do 
worse  at  it  than  many  others.  To  begin  with,  I  have  a  fine 
chest ;  and  in  discoursing,  to  speak  loudly  and  long  is  all  that 
is  necessary.  But  some  one  is  coming !  Doubtless  it  is  the 
father.  I  must  be  firm,  and  play  close. 

SCENE  IX.  —  A  parlor  in  the  chateau. 
(Ledru.     M.  Roberville,  entering.} 

M.  Roberville.  O,  is  it  my  dear  M.  St.  Ange?  How 
happy  I-  am  to  have  in  my  household  so  illustrious  a  man 
as  you ! 

Ledru.     Monsieur  — 

M.  Roberville.  I  am  very  fond  of  savants,  though  I  am 
scarcely  one  myself. 

Ledru.     Monsieur,  it  is  allowable  for  you  to  say  that. 

M.  Roberville.     No,  I  know  myself.     (Sings.} 

At  the  bank  I  feel  at  home ; 

There  I  am  "  on  deck." 
As  to  education,  —  well, 

1  can  draw  a  check. 


THE  TWO  PRECEPTORS  271 


Ledru  (sings). 


Were  I  only  in  your  place ! 

Talents  are  well  enough  — 
But  let  me  choose,  and  I'll  prefer 

Only  to  have  "  the  stuff." 

Had  I  but  money,  then  I'd  proceed 
To  buy  all  the  talent  and  learning  I'd  need. 

That  would  be  easy  enough. 

* 

M.  Roberville.  Monsieur,  I  am  sure  of  what  you  will  give  us 
for  our  money,  and  that,  thanks  to  you,  my  son  will  become  — 

Ledru.  You  may  be  certain  that  I  will  wait  on  him  — 
What  am  I  saying  ?  (aside)  —  that  I  will  instruct  him  —  in  my 
way  —  that  is,  I  will  teach  him  all  I  know  —  that  won't 
take  long  (aside)  —  but  I  am  impatient  to  see  the  little 
fellow. 

M.  Roberville.  But  he  is  not  so  young !  I  haven't  told  you 
that  he  is  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  old. 

Ledru.  O,  the  deuce  !  (Aside.)  I  would  rather  have  had 
him  at  the  start.  He  will  be  almost  obliged  to  forget  what  he 
has  learned,  to  put  us  on  a  footing  together,  so  that  we  can 
understand  each  other. 

M.  Roberville.  I  wrote  to  you  that  he  was  a  young  nursling 
of  the  Muses. 

Ledru.  I  understand,  but  I  was  thinking  of  a  nursling  of 
three  or  four  years. 

M.  Roberville.     What !  why,  he  understands  Latin. 

Ledru.  O,  he  understands  Latin  !  But  then  I  needn't  talk 
to  him  about  that,  for  it's  so  much  less  for  me  to  do. 

M.  Roberville.     And  mathematics  — 

Ledru.  Mathematics!  Then  be  kind  enough  to  indicate 
what  you  desire  me  to  teach  him. 

M.  Roberville.     I  mean  for  you  to  perfect  his  education. 

Ledru.  O,  yes.  That's  what  we  call  the  last  touch  of  the 
napkin. 

M.  Roberville.  No,  it  isn't  that  which  I  wish  you  to  teach ; 
I  mean  his  character. 


272  EUGENE  SCRIBE 

Ledru.  That's  it — so  that  he  will  be  polite  to  his  servants, 
and  not  swear  at  them. 

M.  Roberville.  O,  that's  very  well,  doubtless ;  but  that's  not 
the  essential  thing. 

Ledru.  Beg  pardon,  beg  pardon — but  we  ourselves  always 
judge  others  by  that. 

M.  Roberville.  Very  well,  but  please  note  that  my  son  is  in 
love — not  but  that  I  intend,  to  have  them  marry  after  a  while 
— but  you  understand  that  before  that  time  — 

Ledru.     Well — I  understand;  and  his  manners? 

M.  Roberville.  Surprising!  Note,  now,  the  sort  of  tutor 
that  is  necessary.  We  have,  here,  the  principal  of  the  primary 
school,  M.  Cinglant,  to  whom  I  wish  to  present  you.  He's  the 
very  man  for  Latin,  and  you  are  to  discuss  it  with  him.  That 
will  be  delightful. 

Ledru  (aside).  But — I  could  do  well  without  this  presen- 
tation. (Aloud. )  But  the — the  fatigue  of  my  journey  !  I 
should  not  object  to  taking  a  little  rest. 

M.  Roberville.  Why  didn't  you  mention  it?  They  will 
show  you  where  —  (He  touches  a  bell.  At  the  sound,  Ledru 
turns  around  suddenly.) 

Ledru.     Coming,  sir ! 

M.  Roberville  (astonished^).     What! 

Ledru.  I  was  going  to  say  that  some  One  is  coming — for 
here  is  some  one  now. 

M.  Roberville  (to  Jeannette,  who  enters).  Show  M.  St.  Ange 
the  apartment  on  the  second  floor.  (To  Ledru.)  I'm  going 
to  announce  your  arrival  to  my  son.  (Aside.)  I'm  charmed 
with  our  preceptor. 

SCENE  X.  —  The  same. 

Jeannette  (holding  some  keys  in  her  hand,  and  looking  at 
Ledru).  M.  St.  Ange — I  don't  recover  myself!  (Aside.) 

Ledru  (aside).  The  schoolmaster  worries  me  a  little,  but 
the  father  isn't  of  much  force ;  and  since  no  one  knows  me 
here  — • 


THE   TWO   PRECEPTORS  273 

Jeannette.  O,  I  can't  hold  any  longer ;  and  at  the  risk  — 
(She  turns  away  a  little,  and  speaks  in  a  loud  voice.')  Jasmin  !• 

Ledru  (starting  violently*).  Who  calls?  (Recollecting  him- 
self.} Well,  where  is  my  head  to-day?  (Aside.} 

Jeannette  (aside).     It  is  he  ;  I  was  sure  of  it. 

Ledru  (aside  —  looking  at  Jeannette).  Ah,  it's  that  girl  who, 
six  months  ago  — at  Paris —  Ah,  how  awkward  I  am  !  (Aloud. } 
Well,  what  is  it,  child?  Do  you  want  to  show  me  my  room? 

Jeannette.  How  is  it,  Monsieur  Jasmin,  that  you  don't  wish 
to  recognize  me?  When  you  were  a  lackey  on  la  rue  Helder — 

Ledru  (aside).  O  Heavens !  She's  going  to  compromise 
me. 

.    Jeannette.     You  said  truly  you  were  going  to  make  your 
fortune,  but  you  ought  to  share  it  with  me.     O,  O,  O! 

(  Weeps. } 

Ledru  (aside).  Well,  if  she's  going  to  cry  like  that,  there's 
use  in  this  artifice.  (Aloud.}  Jeannette,  you  are  mistaken. 
I  am  not  the  one  you  think  I  am.  You  confound  me  with  some 
evil  person. 

Jeannette.  Ah,  it's  you  sure  enough.  I  recognize  you  very 
well.  I'm  not  like  you.  (Sings.} 

Can  ambition,  then,  so  blind  you, 

Monsieur  Jasmin ! 
You  take  up  the  education 
Of  a  youth  of  highest  station, 

When  my  tutor  I  should  find  you. 
Ah,  the  lesson  you  have  taught  me 

Has  not  faded  from  my  heart. 
From  the  page  to  which  you  brought  me, 

Now,  united,  let  us  start, 

Monsieur  Jasmin! 

But  since  then  you  have  become  a  governor,  and  you  don't 
want  me  to  be  a  governor's  wife. 

Ledru  (aside).  Who  could  stand  that?  Women  always 
get  me  into  trouble.  They  prevent  my  going  ahead.  Ever 
since  I  pushed  myself  into  the  parlors,  I  have  been  running 
across  antechamber  acquaintances. 

SCH.    IN    COM. 18 


274  EUGENE  SCRIBE 

Jeannette.  Go  away.  Everybody  shall  know  about  your 
perfidy. 

Ledru  (aside).  O  Heavens!  If  anybody  should  come. 
(Aloud.}  Jeannette,  you  make  me  pay  dearly  for  the  indis- 
cretions of  a  reckless  youth.  But  have  a  care  for  your  interests 
— for  mine — because  you  realize  that,  the  governor  not  being 
Jasmin  — and,  on  the  other  hand  —  but,  believe  me,  my  heart  — 
(Jeannette  cries  incessantly.}  Ah,  well !  behold  me!  See  me! 
I  am  on  my  knees  to  you  ! 

Jeannette.  Well,  you're  early !  There,  now  you  seem  your- 
self. You  haven't  forgotten  me,  then? 

SCENE  XI.  —  The  same. 

(M.  Roberville,  entering,  finds  Ledru  on  his  knees  before 
Jeannette.} 

M.  Roberville.  What  do  I  see  !  (Jeannette  screams  and 
escapes,  letting  fall  her  bunch  of  keys.} 

Ledru  (aside} .  Great  Heavens!  It's  the  papa!  (Aloud.} 
I  am  certain  that  you  would  think  I  had  been  on  my  knees. 
You'd  believe  — 

M.  Roberville.     Zounds !     Why,  you  are  now ! 

Ledru.  Well,  it  does  look  that  way.  But  it's  only  a  piece 
of  gallantry.  I  was  about  to  pick  up  those  keys — awkwardly, 
it's  true  —  But  what's  the  difference  ? 

M.  Roberville.     Ah,  you're  courtly,  Professor. 

Ledru.      Well,  what  if  I  am? 

M.  Roberville.  But  what  of  that  austerity  of  manner  of 
which  you  spoke  to  me? 

Ledru.  Gallantry  does  not  exclude  good  manners.  (Aside.} 
I  must  give  him  a  romantic  touch,  or  I'll  never  get  out  of  this. 

All  tlie  aid  of  all  the  Graces 

Cannot  harm  the  pupil's  taste. 
Though  you  prune  a  garden  treasure, 

It  shall  guard  the  sap  from  waste. 


THE   TWO  PEECEPTOES-  275 

It  is  pleasure's  choicest  flower, 

That  the  Graces  cause  to  bloom. 
Gentle  zephyrs  kiss  and  wave  it, 

Nature  gives  it  ample  room. 

M.  Roberville  (becoming  convinced).     Well — 

Ledru.  And  there  are  many  other  considerations  which  I 
might  lead  you  to  appreciate,  but  perhaps  110  one  here  would 
comprehend  them. 

M.  Roberville.     Truly,  I  haven't  your  ability. 

Ledru.  That's  all  right.  You're  not  expected  to  have  a 
mind  like  mine,  since  it  is  you  who  are  the  employer.  That's 
the  general  rule. 

M.  Roberville.     That's  right. 

Ledru.  Otherwise  it  would  be  I  who  should  have  to  give 
you  the  thousand  crowns. 

M.  Roberville.  I  have  come  to  announce  to  you  the  arrival 
of  M.  Cinglant,  the  principal  of  the  primary  school,  of  whom 
1  have  spoken  to  you.  But  here  he  is. 

SCENE  XII.  —  The  same. 
(M.  Cinglant  and  Charles  enter, ) 

M.  Roberville.  Here  is  M.  Cinglant,  of  whom  I  have  spoken 
to  you.  Let  me  have  the  honor  to  introduce  you. 

Ledru  (bowing).  Delighted  to  make  your  acquaintance, 
Sir! 

Cinglant  (bowing).  Certainly,  Sir.  There's  nothing  in  that. 
(Aside.)  Confound  the  Professor —  If  I  were  only  able  to 
make  you  pack  off  ! 

M.  Roberville.  I  introduce  to  you  at  the  same  time  my  son, 
your  new  pupil. 

Ledru.     Ah,  this  is  he? 

Charles  (aside) .     He  has  an  odd  look  ! 

Ledru  (to  Charles).  Young  man,  you  will  have  to  deal  with 
one  who  knows  the  masters. 


276  EUGENE  SCRIBE 

Cinglant.  I  presume  that  you,  Sir,  are  an  advocate  of  the 
new  methods.1 

Ledru.  Well,  yes  —  as  for  me,  I  like  them  well  enough ; 
and  you? 

Cinglant.  As  for  me,  Sir,  so  far  as  methods  go,  mine  are 
known  (makes  the  gesture  previously  described  by  Jeannette, 
p.  262),  and  I  have  no  others.  But  I  shall  be  interested  to 
learn  your  opinion  on  the  question  which  at  this  moment 
is  dividing  the  learned.  Are  you  for  or  against  the  system 
of  Jean  Jacques  ?  2 

Ledru.  O,  the  deuce!  (Aside.}  It  seems  necessary  for 
me  to  commit  myself.  (Aloud.}  Sir,  I  am  for  him  —  and, 
after  all,  why  should  I  not  be? 

Cinglant.  I  ought  not  to  have  doubted  it.  It  is  a  character- 
istic only  of  young  teachers  to  defend  a  doctrine  so  pernicious 
and  detrimental. 

Ledru.  Pernicious !  I  do  not  so  regard  it.  Pernicious  I 
We  must  distinguish  — 

Cinglant.     How,  Sir? 

Charles  (aside}.  Here's  a  discussion  which  may  turn  out 
curiously. 

Ledru  (aside}.  The  deuce!  (Aloud.}  Listen.  We  are 
not  here  to  dispute.  Pernicious  —  I  wish  very  much  —  I  agree 
with  you ;  but  detrimental !  Not  at  all.  We  differ  on  this 
trifle.3  It  is  very  proper.  Only  read  the  chapter  of  —  of  his 
book  of  —  where  he  proves  that  —  and  you  will  see  after  that 
what  remains  to  be  said. 

Charles.     In  fact,  he  has  nothing  to  say  in  reply  to  that. 

Cinglant.     Nothing  to  say  — 

Ledru.  Don't  you  remember  the  chapter  of  which  I  have 
spoken?  Come,  I  see  that  you  have  not  read  it. 

1  The  methods  of  instruction  and  of  discipline  suggested  by  Rousseau,  which 
were  attracting  wide  attention  at  the  time  when  this  play  was  written  (1817). 

2  Rousseau. 

8  Ledru's  attempt  to  effect  a  compromise  on  the  distinction  between  perni- 
cious and  detrimental  is  not  more  absurd  than  the  subtleties  of  many  other 
disputants  who  talk  for  effect. 


THE  TWO  PRECEPTORS  277 

Cinylant  (fiercely}.  Know,  Sir,  that  I  have  not  read  any  of 
these  authors,  and  I  am  proud  of  the  fact. 

Charles.     Here  are  two  learned  men  of  equal  force. 

Ledru  (warmly}.  You  have  not  read  that  sublime  chapter 
—  that  chapter  which  I  have  in  mind  and  with  me  as  much  as 
though  I  had  it  under  my  eyes  ?  It  is  the  one  where  the  others 
think  they  have  cornered  him,  and  say  to  him  so-and-so,  and 
so-and-so,  and  so-and-so.  And  he  knocks  out  their  under- 
pinning and  replies  to  them.  Ah,  you  pretend  that  — and  he 
proves  that  so-and-so,  and  so-and-so,  and  so-and-so.  Ah,  how 
it  is  written!  I  change,  perhaps,  some  words  of  the  text,  but 
this  is  the  basis  of  the  argument. 

Oinglant.  Ah,  well,  it  is  just  there  that  I  call  you  to  halt. 
It  is  on  the  paragraph  that  you  are  going  to  cite. 

Ledru.     Ah,  you  attack  me  on  the  paragraph? 

M.  Roberville.     I  beg  you  to  be  calm. 

Ledru.  No,  let  me  be  ;  I  want  to  pulverize  him  —  to  cite  to 
him  only  that  other  —  that  gentleman  —  his  follower,  the 
great  — 

Charles.     Voltaire,  doubtless. 

Ledru.  M.  Voltaire  —  that's  it.  If  you  had  passed  with 
me  under  the  vestibule  of  the  Franpaise 1  two  hours  each  even- 
ing at  the  foot  of  his  statue,  you  might  boast  of  knowing  your 
authors.  And  I  feel  that  one  ought  to  put  him  into  the  hands 
of  children,  even  before  they  know  how  to  read.  It  could  do 
no  harm  later,  I  declare. 

Cinglant.  I  deny  it ;  and  I  feel  that  it  would  be  worth 
more  —  (He  makes  the  gesture  previously  described. ) 

Ledru.  And  the  consequences  of  your  system  !  You  don't 
sense  them  —  you  !  But  now,  don't  let  us  leave  the  issue  — 
that  is  to  say,  you  are  wrong  and  I  am  right  —  that  which  was 
to  be  shown,  and  which  I  have  shown  in  a  vigorous  manner. 

M.  Rolerville.  The  fact  is,  that  this  is  a  discussion  which 
seems  to  me  very  learned.  What  do  you  say  of  it,  my  son  ? 

1 A  very  celebrated  theater  of  tragedy  in  Paris. 


278  EUGENE  SCRIBE 

Charles.  I  say  you  are  right  (to  Ledru),  and  that  he  is  a 
great  man  (to  his  father},  a  man  of  merit,  and  that  I  will  not 
wait  to  find  another  preceptor  who  is  his  equal. 

Ledru  (aside).     I  was  sure  I  would  take  them  all  in. 

Cinglant  (to  Charles).     He  is  an  ignoramus  ! 

Charles.  An  ignoramus  !  How's  that  ?  I  am  certain  that 
few  persons  who  discuss  this  subject  know  more  of  it  than  he. 
Sir  (to  Ledru),  I'll  take  my  first  lesson  when  you  wish  —  even 
now. 

M.  Roberville.  That  is  right.  I  will  leave  you.  I  am  going 
to  dine  in  the  city  at  the  neighboring  chateau,  and  will  not 
return  till  evening.  Good-by,  M.  St.  Ange ;  I  turn  over  the 
house  to  you. 

Cinglant  (aside).  Heavens!  All  these  savants  —  some  one 
ought  to  —  (Aloud.)  I  salute  you. 

Ledru.     I  don't  salute  you  ! 

(M.  Cinglant  and  M.  Roberville  withdraw.) 


SCENE  XIII.  —  The  same. 

Ledru  (aside).  Well,  that  has  come  out  better  than  I  ex- 
pected, and  my  pupil  is  a  charming  young  man. 

Charles.  Good  !  My  father's  gone.  His  horse  is  gone,  and 
in  five  minutes  we  shall  be  masters  of  the  house.  Listen  here  ! 
(To  Ledru.) 

Ledru  (looking  about  him).  Listen  here  !  Why,  to  whom 
is  he  speaking  ? 

Charles.     Zounds  !     To  you,  scoundrel  ! 

Ledru.  Ah,  there,  young  man,  if  you  will  please  soften  3-01.11- 
expressions  !  That  is  a  tone  to  which  I  am  not  accustomed. 

Charles.  Take  that  back,  for  Jeannette  has  told  me  all 
about  you.  At  first  I  was  going  to  knock  you  down,  but  I 
have  changed  my  plan.  They  have  given  me  a  rascal,  but  it's 
worth  while  to  keep  you.  So  I'll  consent  to  be  under  you,  pro- 
vided you'll  obey  my  orders.  By  the  way,  I  believe  I  remem- 


THE   TWO  PRECEPTORS  279 

her  you.  I  have  seen  you  at  Paris,  at  the  establishment  of 
Sainval,  la  rue  Cerutti. 

Ledru.     It  was  not  I. 

Charles.     Brazen-faced  villain  — 

Ledru.     It  was  not  I. 

Charles.     —  who  all  day  long  played  for  us  on  the  violin. 

Ledru.     False ! 

Charles.  That  is  what  I  was  about  to  say  —  and  who  dis- 
tressed our  ears. 

Ledru  (aside).  That's  true.  (Aloud.~)  It  was  not  I.  I  am 
—  I  dare  say  it  —  the  Demosthenes  of  the  violin.  I  was  born 
to  excel  in  the  sciences  and  the  arts.  I  feel  my  vocation. 
Genius  cannot  be  tied  down. 

Charles.  I  don't  deny  you  to  be  a  man  of  genius  ;  and  pro- 
vided you  conduct  yourself  as  a  servant  of  genius,  that's  all 
that  is  needed.  My  father  ought  to  be  a  good  way  off  by  this 
time,  and  during  his  absence  we  want  to  give  a  ball  at  the 
chateau.  It  .is  the  village  holiday. 

Ledru.     But,  Sir  — 

Charles.  Listen  to  me.  You  are  my  tutor.  It  is  for  you 
to  arrange  that  he  shall  know  nothing  of  it.  But  I  forget  that 
I  must  give  out  the  invitations  in  the  village.  There,  brush  off 
my  coat  a  little.  I  must  hurry  on  my  necktie. 

Ledru.  But,  Sir,  is  it  decent  that  your  tutor,  a  distinguished 
professor  — 

Charles  (throwing  his  coat  to  him,  and  entering  another  room). 
Come  !  Do  as  I  say  ! 

SCEISTE  XIV.  —  The  same. 
(Ledru  alone ,  brushing  a  coat.^) 

Ledru.  This  is  what  I  call  having  no  idea  at  all  of  pro- 
priety. I'll  have  to  give  him  some  lessons  on  that  subject; 
but  to  talk  to  him  about  it  just  at  this  time—  (He  Jiangs 
the  coat  on  a  chair  and  ^vhips  it  with  his  hands,  singing. ) 


280  EUGENE  SCRIBE 

Flap !  flap  !  O  what  a  dust, 
Flap  !  flap !     How  they  would  laugh ! 

Flap !  flap !     Governor-servant ! 

Flap !  flap !     How  they  would  chaff ! 

But  I  do  not  mind  the  scandal 
When  I  think  about  my  purse, 

For  in  such  a  situation 
Many  a  teacher  might  do  worse. 

What  a  luckless,  wretched  valet 
Has  to  do  for  a  hundred  francs, 

When  it  pays  as  now  it  pays  me, 
With  professional  service  ranks. 


SCENE  XV.  —  The  same. 
(M.  Roberville  enters.} 

M.  Roberville.  Good  Heavens !  What  do  I  see  ?  Our  tutor, 
brushing  my  son's  coat. 

Ledru.  That  is  nothing  —  nothing  at  all.  Don't  mind  it. 
It  follows  from  my  system  of  education,  don't  you  see.  I  have 
what  my  pupil  should  in  propriety  have.  We  philosophers 
regard  propriety  as  the  mirror  of  the  soul. 

M.  Roberville.  Agreed.  But  it  is  not  necessary  for  you  to 
give  yourself  this  trouble.  The  underservant  — 

Ledru.  You  don't  catch  my  idea.  I  am  the  servant.  The 
first  teaching  of  wisdom  is  to  learn  to  get  away  from  others 
and  to  wait  on  oneself. 

{Charles  is  heard  from  within.} 

Charles.  Well,  let's  see  that  coat,  now.  Have  you  fin- 
ished it  ? 

Ledru.     You  see,  I  must  take  it  to  him. 

M.  Roberville  (holding  him  back}.  How?  I  cannot  permit 
that  — 

Ledru.    I  beg  pardon,  let  me  go.  .  You  see  that  he  is  waiting. 

M.  Roberville.  Well,  let  him  wait.  Stay  here.  I  want 
him  to  learn  some  respect. 


THE  TWO  PRECEPTORS  281 

SCENE  XVI.  —  Tlie  same. 
(Charles  enters  excitedly.} 

Charles.  Ah,  there  you  are !  Answer  when  I  call  you ! 
(Shaking  his  fist  at  Ledru.}  I  don't  know  what  holds  me 
back.  (Aside.}  There's  my  father  ! 

Ledru.  No,  strike  now.  I'd  like  to  know  who  hinders 
you.  (To  M.  Roberville.}  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  lend 
me  your  cane?  (To  Charles.}  Hold!  Don't  stand  on  cere- 
mony. I  will  say  to  you  as  that  general  or  that  Greek  cor- 
poral, to  whom  they  wished  to  administer  a  soldier's  flogging, 
"Strike,  but  hear  me."  (To  M.  Roberville.}  Ha!  He  is 
confounded !  Well,  that  is  the  way  to  rule  them  —  the  way  to 
conquer  them,  to  break  their  will.  I  know  there  are  dangers 
to  run,  but  if  we  look  to  that  — 

M.  Roberville.     Heavens  !     I  don't  accept  that. 

Ledru.  Now,  young  man,  since  you  are  of  a  mind  to  listen 
to  me,  here  is  your  coat.  But  don't  take  on  that  tone  again. 
(Helps  him  on  with  his  coat.}  I  let  it  go  this  time.  Another 
time  it  will  be  altogether  different.  I  warn  you.  (To  M. 
Roberville.}  Ah,  what  a  lesson  ! 

M.  Roberville  (aside}.  My  conscience!  What  an  original 
professor!  (Low,  to  Ledru.}  I  was  about  to  leave,  when  I 
recollected  an  important  matter.  To-day  is  the  village  holi- 
day and  I  must  forbid  —  but  come  with  me  to  the  carriage, 
and  I'll  give  you  all  my  instructions.  (To  Charles.}  Good- 
by,  Sir,  and  learn  to  respect  the  worthy  professor  I  have 
given  you.  (M.  Roberville  and  Ledru  retire.} 

SCENE  XVII.  —  The  dining  hall  of  the  chateau. 

Charles.  Poor  Ledru !  Heaven  couldn't  have  sent  me  a 
governor  more  to  my  taste.  (To  Elise,  who  enters,  followed  by 
Antoine.)  Elise,  Elise  !  We  are  masters  of  the  house,  and  the 
whole  place  is  ours  !  (To  Antoine.}  Antoine,  go  and  announce 
in  the  village  that  I'm  going  to  give  a  dance  at  the  chateau. 


282  EUGENE  SCEIBE 

Give  orders  for  the  refreshments.     Be  careful  to  get  a  violin 
—  do  you  hear?     I  want  the  entertainment  to  be  complete. 

Elise.  And  this  is  the  severe  governor  they  were  telling  me 
about ! 

Charles.     O,  don't  let  that  scare  you. 

SCENE  XVIII.  —  The  same. 
(Jeannette  enters.) 

Jeannette.  Your  father  is  off,  at  last.  I  saw  him  on  the 
avenue.  As  he  stepped  into  the  carriage,  there  was  a  little 
fellow  of  my  uncle's  school,  who  came  to  give  him  a  letter. 
Your  father  did  like  this  (making  a  gesture  of  astonishment), 
and  then  like  this  (making  another  gesture).  But  he  put  the 
letter  into  his  pocket,  and  went  on. 

Charles.     O,  Jeannette  never  forgets  anything. 

Jeannette.  Truly,  when  a  person  looks,  she  can't  help  seeing 
all.  That's  not  the  whole  of  it.  While  Monsieur  was  reading 
the  letter,  Jasmin  came  up  to  me. 

Charles.     My  governor,  you  mean? 

Jeannette.  Yes,  your  governor  -,  and  he  mysteriously  told 
me  this :  "  Jeanette,"  he  says,  "  I  must  speak  to  you  in  secret. 
Where  is  your  room  ?  "  It's  odd,  a  request  like  that !  What 
does  he  want  ? 

Elise.     And  what  did  you  say  to  him  ? 

Jeannette.  Beg  pardon,  Miss,  but  I  did  like  that  (holding 
out  her  hand)  at  the  side  of  the  great  staircase  —  where  I 
generally  have  my  room. 

(Peasants  are  heard  behind  the  scene,  singing :) 

It  is  the  village  festival, 
And  every  one  must  go  — 

Elise.     What  is  this  noise  ? 

Jeannette.     It's  the  whole  village,  which  has  responded  to 
your  invitation. 
(Jeannette  walks  away.     The  chorus  continues  behind  the  scene.) 


THE   TWO  PRECEPTORS  283 


It  is  the  village  festival, 
And  every  one  must  go. 

Deign  to  receive  the  homage 
Which  here  we  come  to  show. 

Charles  (sings). 

Wisdom  will  take  no  offense, 

And  a  little  sport  we  earn ; 
Let  us  play  while  she's  away ; 

All  too  soon  she  will  return. 


SCENE  XIX.  —  The  same. 
(JEnter  Antoine  and  the  peasants.) 

Peasants  (singing^). 

It  is  the  village  festival, 

And  every  one  must  go. 
Deign  to  receive  the  homage 

Which  here  we  come  to  show. 

Charles.  Come,  friends,  take  your  places.  I'll  dance  with 
Jeanne  tte. 

Jeannette.     O,  but  the  violin  ! 

Antoine.     Here  it  is. 

Charles.     Who  is  there  to  play  it  ? 

Antoine.     I  don't  know.     You  gave  no  directions  as  to  that. 

Charles.     What  about  the  violinists  ? 

Jeannette.  They  didn't  believe  that  there  would  be  any 
party  at  the  chateau,  and  they're  at  a  commune  ball,  a  mile 
away. 

Charles.  Well,  what  are  we  going  to  do  ?  ( A  noise  is  heard 
without. ) 

SCENE  XX.  —  The  same. 
(ILedru  enters,  in  a  disordered  condition.) 

Ledru.     O!  O! 
Charles.     Well,  what  now  ? 

Ledru.     Nothing  —  an  adventure  —  that  was  funny  enough 
—  O,  my  back  ! 


284  EUGENE  SCEIBE 

Charles.     But  — 

Ledru.  Nay,  I'll  tell  you  all.  O !  Happily,  no  one  recog- 
nized me ;  and  if  my  back  suffers,  my  reputation  is  saved. 
(Recollects  himself,  and  notes  the  presence  of  the  peasants.} 
What  do  I  see  ?  Here  is  exactly  what  your  father  for- 
bade. 

Charles.     What  does  it  matter  ? 

Ledru.  Consider  my  responsibility.  I  can't  look  on  and 
see  this. 

Charles.  Well,  don't  look,  then.  (To  the  villagers.}  Ah, 
my  friends,  I've  an  idea.  We  are  rescued  !  Here's  my  gov- 
ernor, who  is  a  great  hand  at  the  violin ;  and  since  he's  not 
averse  to  fun,  I'm  sure  he'll  have  us  dance,  if  some  one  will 
coax  him  a  little. 

All.     Do,  Monsieur. 

Ledru.     No,  gentlemen,  my  dignity  — 

Charles  (aside  to  Ledru}.  Accept,  or  I'll  knock  you 
down. 

Ledru.     With  the  greatest  pleasure  ! 

Jeannette.  Hold  on.  Here's  a  barrel  for  an  orchestra  plat- 
form. 

Ledru  (aside  to  Jeannette}.     Hold  your  tongue,  traitoress! 

Jeannette.     Why,  what's  the  matter  with  him? 

Ledru  (aside  to  Charles}.  Worse  and  worse  !  It  would  be 
impossible  to  degrade  me  further.  Help  me  to  climb  up. 
(He  takes  his  place  on  the  top  of  the  hogshead.}  Now,  then, 
take  your  places!  (They  form  for  a  contradance.  He  takes  the 
violin  and  plays.}  English  chain  ! 

All  (sing}. 

Highly  honored  are  we  now ; 

Science  — 

Science  rules  the  dance  1 
To  the  governor  make  your  bow  ; 
Glory  rests  upon  his  brow. 

Science  — 

Science  rules  the  dance  ! 


THE  TWO  PRECEPTORS  285 

Charted  (sings,  to  Ledru). 

Why  did  you  hesitate,  why  did  you  fear, 
In  the  high  seat  of  honor,  to  handle  the  bow  ? 

No  one  who  saw  you  would  take  you  to  be 
A  learned  professor,  you  know. 

All  (sing}. 

Highly  honored  are  we  now  ; 

Science  — 

Science  rules  the  dance  ! 
To  the  governor  make  your  bow ; 
Glory  rests  upon  his  brow. 

Science  rules  the  dance  ! 

(The  dance  becomes  animated,  and  Ledru  calls  off  the  figures.) 

SCENE  XXI.  —  The  same. 

.  Roberville  enters  at  the  rear,  with  a  letter  in  his  hand,  and 
looks  on,  for  some  time.} 

M.  Roberville.  Having  a  good  time  ?  Don't  put  yourselves 
out !  So  there  was  'good  reason  for  that  letter  which  informed 
me  that  they  were  only  waiting  for  me  to  leave.  And  you, 
Monsieur  Governor? 

Ledru.  What  was  I  to  do  ?  Am  I  to  blame  ?  When  I  left 
you,  I  found  everything  already  arranged.  How  could  I  pre- 
vent the  young  girls  dancing  ? 

M.  Roberville.  Soon  enough!  But  you  are  managing  the 
dance. 

Ledru.  Ah,  that's  different.  There's  where  I  show  the 
best  judgment.  When  I  found  I  couldn't  oppose  this  perform- 
ance, I  said  to  myself,  "At  least,  I'll  be  on  hand."  And  I 
was,  and  am  still. 

M.  Rolerville.  But  after  all,  is  that  the  position  of  a 
philosopher  ? 

Ledru.  So  far  as  the  barrel  is  concerned — What  the  deuce  ! 
—  Diogenes  had  one,  certainly.  The  only  difference  is  that  he 
was  inside,  and  I'm  on  the  top.  You  can  see  for  yourself  that 
my  position  is  in  some  respects  superior  to  his. 


286  EUGENE  SCRIBE 

SCENE  XXII.  —  The  same. 
(M.  Cinglant  enters.} 

M.  Cinglant.  Where  is  he  ?  Where  is  he  —  the  rascal  I 
took  by  surprise  in  Jeannette's  room  ? 

Ledru  (aside).  Come,  there's  our  infernal  schoolmaster. 
Tin  in  for  it ! 

M.  Cinglant.  He  has  escaped  me,  but  in  the  struggle  he  lost 
off  his  hat. 

Ledru.     Heavens !     It's  mine. 

M.  Cinglant.  What !  It's  yours,  Professor  ?  How  sorry  I 
am  that  I  gave  you  such  blows  with  the  broomstick. 

Ledru.  That's  nothing.  In  fact,  no  one  saw  it.  It  was 
the  fault  of  M.  Roberville,  who  ought  to  have  had  windows  in 
his  mansard.  It  will  only  be  a  few  days  of  pain. 

M.  Cinglant.  They  ought  to  be  good,  because  of  your  lofty 
bearing.  But  beside  the  hat  was  a  portfolio,  and  we  shall  see— 

Ledru.     Don't  open  it.     It's  mine. 

M.  Cinglant.  It's  not  yours,  at  all.  It  belongs  to  a  person 
named  Ledru. 

Ledru  (aside}.     Now  for  explanations  ! 

M.  Cinglant.     There  is  even  a  letter  for  Monsieur. 

M.  Roberville  (taking  the  letter}.  A  letter  addressed  to  me  ? 
What  do  I  see  ?  M.  St.  Ange  declines  the  position  of  pre- 
ceptor, and  you  bring  me  the  letter  ?  Who  are  you,  then  ? 

M.  Cinglant  (holding  another  paper}.  Strange  !  Look  at 
this  pass  book  :  "  Ledru,  servant  of  M.  St.  Ange,"  -  —  and  his 
description  —  '•'•nose  long,  mouth  large,  ears  ditto."  You  can  put 
this  and  that  together. 

M.  Roberville.     What  does  that  mean? 

Ledru.  That,  since  my  character  is  known,  I  renounce  the 
professorship,  and,  for  the  price  of  my  services,  I  ask  the  hand 
of  Jeannette,  my  old-time  companion. 

M.  Roberville.     My  little  garden  maid  ? 

Ledru.     I'm  not  proud,  and  we'll   have  the  two  weddings 


THE   TWO  PRECEPTORS  287 

together.  For  you  told  me,  confidentially,  that  you  intended 
Charles  to  marry  his  cousin. 

Charles  and  Elite.     Is  that'  so  ? 

M,  Roberville  (incensed  at  Ledru).     He's  a  traitor  ! 

Charles.  And  to  thank  him  for  it,  I'll  take  it  on  myself  to  see 
to  Jeannette's  dowry,  and  I'll  take  my  governor  into  my  service. 

M.  Cinglant*     Ah,  then  you  are  not  a  savant  ? 

Ledru.  Heavens,  no  !  No  more  than  you  are  —  the  more 
reason  why  I  should  come  into  your  family.  I  abandon  the 
career  of  public  education.  I  go  back  to  service  ;  and  if  I 
have  lost  my  rhetoric  with  you,  I  hope  that  in  the  kitchen  I 
shall  not  lose  my  Latin. 


Ah,  my  kitchen  beauty  rare 

Is  my  va.de  mecum. 
All  my  other  Latin  words,  — 

Vainly  do  I  seek  'em. 
Only  one  remains  to  me 

When  I  would  align  'em, 
For,  of  all  the  Latin  words, 

I  remember  vinum. 
I,  among  the  learned  men, 

Primus  was,  nor  minus, 

Yeo  for  all,  in  fact,  was  I 

Asinus  !  As-i-nus  !  * 

M.  Cinglant  (sings). 

All  my  cohort  infantine, 

That  the  folks  kept  sendiu'  us, 
Learned  in  childhood  to  decline 

All  the  nouns  that  end  in  us. 
Dominus  and  dsinus 

They  were  always  mixing. 
When  the  nouns  I  bade  them  give, 

How  they  needed  fixing  ! 
When  the  word  for  master  came, 

They,  the  poor  definers  — 
From  their  little  throats  came  forth 
Asinus!  As-i-nus! 

1  The  change  of  accent  in  the  repetition  of  this  word  helps  the  rhythm. 


288  EUGENE  SCRIBE 

Charles  (sings). 

With  a  voice  like  Stentor's x  loud, 

See  the  clownish  fellow ! 
How  he  would  impress  us  all, 

With  his  heavy  bellow  ! 
All  the  works  of  grand  Voltaire,  — 

How  he  has  abused  them ; 
Judgment  given  upon  them  all, 

Though  he's  ne'er  perused  them ! 
"  Ah,"  they  say,  "  how  learned  he  is ! 

How  his  words  incline  us  !  " 
But  his  ears  will  still  protrude  — 
A  sinus  !  As-i-nus! 

M.  Roberville  (sings). 

Of  my  country's  glorious  speech, 

Never  was  I  knowing. 
Ignorance  of  all  its  works 

Always  I  am  showing. 
Innocent  of  Latin,  too, 

Prose  or  epic  measure ; 
But  where  money  can  be  found, 

There  I  find  my  treasure. 
We  who  seek  for  wealth  alone, 

And  to  that  resign  us, 
Though  we  reach  it,  we  are  called 
Asinus!  As-i-nus! 

Jeannette  (sings). 

Last,  the  author  of  the  play, 

Not  at  all  pretending, 
Has  a  word  for  me  to  say, 

At  the  drama's  ending. 
With  pretense  of  talents  rare 

He  would  ne'er  abuse  you, 
But  has  sought,  with  single  heart, 

Only  to  amuse  you. 
If  we  have  achieved  his  hope, 

Then  you'll  not  assign  us 
To  the  ranks  of  those  we  call 
Asinus!  As-i-nus! 

1  Stentor  was  a  loud-voiced  herald,  mentioned  by  Homer. 


FORTY  years  ago,  everybody  was  laughing  or  crying  over  Fanny  Fern. 
Her  bright  pictures  of  lil'e  and  her  pathetic  sketches  were  everywhere  read 
in  the  United  States.  Her  own  personality  was  discernible  on  every  page. 
"When  her  story  of  Ruth  Hall  appeared,  it  was  universally  recognized  as  a 
sort  of  autobiography.  The  key  to  the  story  was  soon  supplied,  for  the 
public  was  deeply  interested  in  all  that  pertained  to  the  peerless  Fanny. 
"  Hyacinth  Ellet,"  the  selfish  fop  in  the  narrative,  was  declared  to  be  her 
brother,  the  well-known  poet,  Nathaniel  Parker  Willis. 

Fanny  Fern  is  no  longer  read,  and  her  sarcastic  detraction  has  lost  its 
force.  With  the  petty  feuds  of  her  family  the  public  no  longer  concerns 
itself,  and  the  general  estimation  of  the  poet  is  based  upon  the  merits  of  his 
works.  These  are  gaining  in  favor  as  the  years  go  by,  and  criticism  is  left 
free  to  pass  upon  them  without  the  bias  which  the  brilliant  but  unloving 
sister  created  in  the  minds  of  her  vast  army  of  readers. 

Willis  was  a  native  of  Portland,  Me.,  and  was  born  in  1806.  He  was 
graduated  from  Yale  College  at  the  age  of  twenty,  and  at  the  same 
time  entered  upon  his  career  as  an  author.  His  first  volume  of  poems  was 
published  over  the  pseudonym  of  "  Ray."  An  early  enterprise  in  journalism 
failed,  but  he  soon  achieved  success  as  a  European  correspondent  of  The 
New  York  Mirror,  in  which  he  was  pecuniarily  interested.  His  letters  of 
travel  which  appeared  in  this  magazine  were  subsequently  collected  and 
published  under  the  title,  Pencilings  by  the  Way. 

In  Europe  Willis  became  attached  to  the  American  Ministry  at  Paris, 
and  traveled  extensively  through  the  Mediterranean  lands  and  the  East. 
He  returned  to  the  United  States  in  1837,  taking  up  his  residence  near 
Oswego,  N.Y.  Again  failing  in  an  enterprise  of  his  own,  he  returned  to 
his  work  of  foreign  correspondence,  in  which  he  was  always  successful. 
On  his  return  from  Europe  in  1846,  he  resided  at  Idlewild,  near  Newburg, 
N.Y.,  becoming  at  the  same  time  associated  in  the  editorship  of  The  Home 
Journal,  to  which  he  contributed  to  the  time  of  his  death  in  1867. 

Among  Willis's  most  familiar  poems  are  Absalom,  Jephthah's  Daughter, 
Parrhasius,  and  The  Dying  Alchymist  to  His  Soul.  His  versification  is  mar- 
velously  perfect  in  its  rhythm,  and  his  poetry  is  delicate  in  its  thought  and 
expression,  though  he  has  been  criticised  as  foppish  and  affected  in  his  writ- 
ings, and,  indeed,  he  seems  at  times  to  be  lacking  in  manly  vigor, 
sen.  IN  COM.  —  19  289 


290  NATHANIEL   PAliKER    WILLIS 

The  Scholar  of  Thebet  Ben  Khorat  is  representative  of  his  style,  and  is  so 
characteristic  that  its  authorship  would  have  been  very  generally  recognized 
had  it  been  published  anonymously.  It  will  remind  the  reader  of  Biron's 
pessimism  in  Shakspeare's  Love's  Labor's  Lost.  Study  must  have  its  martyrs, 
but  this  fact  contains  no  valid  argument  against  the  reasonable  gratifica- 
tion of  the  higher  aspirations  of  the  soul.  The  poem  impresses  a  needed 
lesson  of  moderation  in  study  —  a  lesson  which  every  teacher  should  heed. 
It  contains  an  anachronism,  for  it  speaks  of  the  use  of  a  telescope  at  a  time 
preceding  the  invention  of  that  instrument. 


THE   SCHOLAR   OF  THEBET   BEN   KHORAT 

i. 

Night  in  Arabia.     An  hour  ago, 

Pale  Dian  had  descended  from  the  sky, 

Flinging  her  cestus  out  upon  the  sea, 

And  at  their  watches,  now,  the  solemn  stars 

Stood  vigilant  and  lone  ;  and,  dead  asleep, 

With  not  a  shadow  moving  on  its  breast, 

The  breathing  earth  lay  in  its  silver  dew, 

And,  trembling  on  their  myriad  viewless  wings, 

The  imprisoned  odors  left  the  flowers  to  dream, 

And  stole  away  upon  the  yielding  air. 

Ben  Khorat's J  tower  stands  shadowy  and  tall 

In  Mecca's  loneliest  street ;  and  ever  there, 

When  night  is  at  the  deepest,  burns  his  lamp 

As  constant  as  the  Cynosure,2  and  forth 

From  his  looped  window  stretched  the  brazen  tubes, 

Pointing  forever  at  the  central  star 

Of  that  dim  nebula  just  lifting  now 

Over  Mount  Arafat.     The  sky  to-night 

1  A  famous  Arabian  astrologer,  who  is  said  to  have  spent  forty  years  or  more 
in  discovering  the  "  eighth  sphere."     This  was  the  outer  transparent  shell  in 
which  the  heavenly  bodies  were  supposed  to  be  fixed,  so  as  to  secure  their  orderly 
revolution  about  the  earth.     The  latter  was  thought  to  be  at  rest. 

2  The  Great  Dipper. 


THE  SCHOLAR   OF  THEBET  BEN  KHORAT  291 

Is  of  a  clearer  blackness  than  is  wont, 

And  far  within  its  depths  the  colored  stars 

Sparkle  like  gems  —  capricious  Antares 

Flushing  and  paling  in  the  Southern  arch  ; 

And  azure  Lyra,  like  a  woman's  eye, 

Burning  with  soft  blue  luster  ;  and  away 

Over  the  desert,  the  bright  Polar  star, 

White  as  a  flashing  icicle  ;  and  here, 

Hung  like  a  lamp  above  the  Arabian  sea, 

Mars,  with  his  dusky  glow  ;  and,  fairer  yet, 

Mild  Sirius  tinct  with  dewy  violet, 

Set  like  a  flower  upon  the  breast  of  Eve  ; 

And  in  the  zenith,  the  sweet  Pleiades  l 

(Alas  —  that  even  a  star  may  pass  from  heaven 

And  not  be  missed  !)  —  the  linked  Pleiades 

Undimmed  are  there,  though  from  the  sister  band 

The  fairest  has  gone  down  ;  and,  South  away, 

Hirundo,  with  its  little  company  ; 

And  white-browed  Vesta,  lamping  on  her  path, 

Lonely  and  planet-calm,  and,  all  through  heaven, 

Articulate  almost,  they  troop  to-night, 

Like  unrobed  angels  in  a  prophet's  trance. 

Ben  Khorat  knelt  before  his  telescope, 
Gazing  with  earnest  stillness  on  the  stars. 
The  gray  hairs,  struggling  from  his  turban  folds, 
Played  with  the  entering  wind  upon  his  cheeks, 
And  on  his  breast  his  venerable  beard, 
With  supernatural  whiteness,  loosely  fell. 
The  black  flesh  swelled  about  his  sandal-thongs, 
Tight  with  his  painful  posture,  and  his  lean 
And  withered  fingers  to  his  knees  were  clenched, 
And  the  thin  lashes  of  his  straining  eye 

1  These  are  in  the  zenith  at  their  culmination,  in  Arabia.  According  to  an 
old  legend,  there  were  originally  seven  of  the  Pleiades,  and  one  has  disappeared 
from  the  group. 


292  NATHANIEL  PAEKER    WILLIS 

Lay  with  unwinking  closeness  to  the  lens, 
Stiffened  with  tense  up-turning.     Hour  by  hour, 
Till  the  stars  melted  in  the  flush  of  morn, 
The  old  astrologer  knelt  moveless  there, 
Ravished  past  pain  with  the  bewildering  spheres, 
And,  hour  by  hour,  with  the  same  patient  thought, 
Pored  his  pale  scholar l  on  the  characters 
Of  Chaldee  writ,  or,  as  his  gaze  grew  dim 
With  weariness,  the  dark-eyed  Arab  laid 
His  head  upon  the  window,  and  looked  forth 
Upon  the  heavens  awhile,  until  the  dews 
And  the  soft  beauty  of  the  silent  night 
Cooled  his  flushed  eyelids,  and  then  patiently 
He  turned  unto  his  constant  task  again. 

The  sparry  glinting  of  the  Morning  Star 
Shot  through  the  leaves  of  a  majestic  palm 
Fringing  Mount  Arafat,  and,  as  it  caught 
The  eye  of  the  rapt  scholar,  he  arose 
And  clasped  the  volume  with  an  eager  haste, 
And  as  the  glorious  planet  mounted  on, 
Melting  her  way  into  the  upper  sky, 
He  breathlessly  gazed  on  her  :  — 

"  Star  of  the  silver  ray  ! 
Bright  as  a  god,  but  punctual  as  a  slave  — 
What  spirit  the  eternal  canon  gave 

That  bends  thee  to  thy  way  ? 
What  is  the  soul  that,  on  thine  arrowy  light, 
Is  walking  earth  and  heaven  in  pride  to-night  ? 

"  We  know  when  thou  wilt  soar 

Over  the  mount  —  thy  change,  and  place,  and  time  — 
'Tis  written  in  the  Chaldee's  mystic  rhyme, 

1  An  Arab  youth  who  abandoned  his  tribe  and  sacrificed  his  loved  steed  to 
study  with  the  astrologer,  Ben  Khorat.  Giving  himself  no  rest,  and  straining 
his  mind  beyond  its  powers,  he  became  insane  and  died  from  overstudy. 


THE  SCHOLAR  OF  THEBET  SEN  SHOE  AT  293 

As  'twere  a  priceless  lore  ! 
I  knew  as  much  in  my  Bedouin  garb  — 
Coursing  the  desert  on  my  flying  barb  ! 

"  How  oft  amid  the  tents, 
Upon  Sahara's  sands  I've  walked  alone, 
Waiting  all  night  for  thee,  resplendent  one  ! 

With  what  magnificence, 
In  the  last  watches,  to  my  thirsting  eye, 
Thy  passionate  beauty  flushed  into  the  sky  ! 

"  Oh  God  !     How  flew  my  soul 
Out  to  thy  glory  —  upward  on  thy  ray  — 
Panting  as  thou  ascendest  on  thy  way, 

As  if  thine  own  control  — 
This  searchless  spirit  that  I  cannot  find  — 
Had  set  its  radiant  law  upon  my  mind  ! 

"  More  than  all  stars  in  heaven 
I  felt  thee  in  my  heart !     My  love  became 
A  frenzy,  and  consumed  me  with  its  flame, 

Ay,  in  the  desert  even  — 
My  dark-eyed  Abra  coursing  at  my  side  — 
The  star,  not  Abra,  was  my  spirit's  bride ! 

"  My  Abra  is  no  more  ! 
My  '  desert-bird '  is  in  a  stranger's  stall  — 
My  tribe,  my  tent  —  I  sacrificed  them  all 

For  this  heart-wasting  lore  !  — 
Yet,  than  all  these,  the  thought  is  sweeter  far  — 
Thou  wert  ascendant  at  my  birth,  bright  star  ! 

"  The  Chaldee  calls  me  thine  — 
And  in  this  breast,  that  I  must  rend  to  be 
A  spirit  upon  wings  of  light  like  thee, 

I  feel  that  thou  art  mine  ! 

Oh  God,  that  these  dull  fetters  would  give  way 
And  let  me  forth  to  track  thy  silver  ray  !  " 


294  NATHANIEL   PARKER    WILLIS 

Ben  Khorat  rose 

And  silently  looked  forth  upon  the  East. 
The  dawn  was  stealing  up  into  the  sky 
On  its  gray  feet ;  the  stars  grew  dim  apace, 
And  faded,  till  the  Morning  Star  alone, 
Soft  as  a  molten  diamond's  liquid  fire, 
Burned  in  the  heavens.     The  morn  grew  f reshlier  - 
The  upper  clouds  were  faintly  touched  with  gold  ; 
The  fan-palms  rustled  in  the  early  air  ; 
Daylight  spread  cool  and  broadly  to  the  hills  ; 
And  still  the  star  was  visible,  and  still 
The  young  Bedouin,  with  a  straining  eye, 
Drank  its  departing  light  into  his  soul. 
It  faded  —  melted  —  and  the  fiery  rim 
Of  the  clear  sun  came  up,  and  painfully 
The  passionate  scholar  pressed  upon  his  eyes 
His  dusky  fingers,  and,  with  limbs  as  weak 
As  a  sick  child's,  turned  fainting  to  his  couch, 
And  slept.         *         *         *      .  *         *         * 


n. 


It  was  the  morning  watch  once  more, 
The  clouds  were  drifting  rapidly  above, 
And  dim  and  fast  the  glimmering  stars  flew  through  ; 
And  as  the  fitful  gust  soughed  mournfully, 
The  shutters  shook,  and  on  the  sloping  roof 
Plashed,  heavily,  large,  single  drops  of  rain  — 
And  all  was  still  again.     Ben  Khorat  sat 
By  the  dim  lamp,  and,  while  his  scholar  slept, 
Pored  on  the  Chaldee  wisdom.    At  his  feet, 
Stretched  on  a  pallet,  lay  the  Arab  boy, 
Muttering  fast  in  his  unquiet  sleep, 
And  working  his  dark  fingers  in  his  palms 
Convulsively.     His  sallow  lips  were  pale, 


THE  SCHOLAR   OF  THEBET  HEN  KHORAT  295 

And,  as  they  moved,  his  teeth  showed  ghastly  through, 

White  as  a  charnel  bone,  and  —  closely  drawn 

Upon  his  sunken  eyes,  as  if  to  press 

Some  frightful  image  from  the  bloodshot  balls  — 

His  lids  a  moment  quivered,  and  again 

Relaxed,  half  open,  in  a  calmer  sleep. 

Ben  Khorat  gazed  upon  the  dropping  sands 

Of  the  departing  hour.     The  last  white  grain 

Fell  through,  and  with  the  tremulous  hand  of  age 

The  old  astrologer  reversed  the  glass  ; 

And,  as  the  voiceless  monitor  went  on, 

Wasting  and  wasting  with  the  precious  hour, 

He  looked  upon  it  with  a  moving  lip, 

And,  starting,  turned  his  gaze  upon  the  heavens, 

Cursing  the  clouds  impatiently. 

"'Tistime!" 

Muttered  the  dying  scholar,  and  he  dashed 
The  tangled  hair  from  his  black  eyes  away, 
And,  seizing  on  Ben  Khorat's  mantle-folds, 
He  struggled  to  hisjieet,  and  falling  prone 
Upon  the  window-ledge,  gazed  steadfastly 
Into  the  East  :  — 

"  There  is  a  cloud  between  — 
She  sits  this  instant  on  the  mountain's  brow, 
And  that  dusk  veil  hides  all  her  glory  now  — 

Yet  floats  she  as  serene 

Into  the  heavens  ! Oh  God  !  that  even  so 

I  could  o'ermount  my  spirit-cloud,  and  go  ! 

"  The  cloud  begins  to  drift ! 
Aha  !  fling  open  !  'tis  the  star  —  the  sky ! 
Touch  me,  immortal  mother  !  and  I  fly ! 

Wider  !  thou  cloudy  rift ! 

Let  through !     Such  glory  should  have  radiant  room  I 
Let  through !     A  star-child  on  its  light  goes  home  ! 


296  NATHANIEL   PAEKEE    WILLIS 

"  Speak  to  me,  brethren  bright ! 
Ye  who  are  floating  in  these  living  beams ! 
Ye  who  have  come  to  me  in  starry  dreams ! 

Ye  who  have  winged  the  light 
Of  our  bright  mother  with  its  thoughts  of  flame 
(I  knew  it  passed  through  spirits  as  it  came)  — 

"  Tell  me,  what  power  have  ye  ? 
What  are  the  heights  ye  reach  upon  your  wings  ? 
What  know  ye  of  the  myriad  wondrous  things 

I  perish  but  to  see  ? 

Are  ye  thought-rapid  ?       Can  ye  fly  as  far  — 
As  instant  as  a  thought,  from  star  to  star  ? 

"  Where  has  the  Pleiad  gone  ? 

Where  have  all  missing  stars  found  light  and  home  ? 
Who  bids  the  Stella  Mira  go  and  come  ? 

Why  sits  the  Pole-star  lone  ? 
And  why,  like  banded  sisters,  through  the  air 
Go  in  bright  troops  the  constellations  fair  ? 

"  Ben  Khorat,  dost  thou  mark  ? 

The  star  !    The  star !    By  Heaven  !    The  cloud  drifts  o'er ! 
Gone  —  and  I  live  !  nay  —  will  my  heart  beat  more  ? 

Look,  Master  !    'Tis  all  dark  ! 

Not  a  clear  speck  in  heaven  ?     My  eyeballs  smother  ! 
Break  through  the  clouds  once  more  !     Oh  starry  mother ! 

"  I  will  lie  down !     Yet  stay, 
The  rain  beats  out  the  odor  from  the  gums, 
And  strangely  soft  to-night  the  spice-wind  comes  1 

I  am  a  child  alway 

When  it  is  on  my  forehead !  Abra  sweet ! 
Would  I  were  in  the  desert  at  thy  feet ! 


THE   SCHOLAR   Of  TliEBET  BEN   KHORAt  297 

"  My  barb  !     My  glorious  steed  ! 
Methinks  my  soul  would  mount  upon  its  track 
More  fleetly,  could  I  die  upon  thy  back ! 

How  would  thy  thrilling  speed 
Quicken  my  pulse  !     Oh  Allah  !     I  get  wild ! 
Would  that  I  were  once  more  a  desert  child ! 


"  Nay  —  nay  —  I  had  forgot ! 

My  mother  !     My  starry  mother  !     Ha,  my  breath 
Stifles More  air  !     Ben  Khorat !     This  is  —  death  ! 

Touch  me I  feel  you  not ! 

Dying !     Farewell  good  Master  !     Room  !     More  room ! 
Abra !     I  loved  thee,  star !     Bright  star !     I come  ! ' 

How  idly  of  the  human  heart  we  speak, 
Giving  it  gods  of  clay !     How  worse  than  vain 
Is  the  school  homily,  that  Eden's  fruit 
Cannot  be  plucked  too  freely  from  "  the  tree 
Of  good  and  evil."     Wisdom  sits  alone, 
Topmost  in  heaven.      She  is  its  light  —  its  God  1 
And  in  the  heart  of  man  she  sits  as  high  — 
Though  groveling  eyes  forget  her  oftentimes, 
Seeing  but  this  world's  idols.     The  pure  mind 
Sees  her  forever ;  and  in  youth  we  come 
Filled  with  her  sainted  ravishment,  and  kneel, 
Worshiping  God  through  her  sweet  altar  fires, 
And  then  is  knowledge  "good."     We  come  too  oft  — 
The  heart  grows  proud  with  fullness,  and  we  soon 
Look  with  licentious  freedom  on  the  maid 
Throned  in  celestial  beauty.     There  she  sits, 
Robed  in  her  soft  and  seraph  loveliness, 
Instructing  and  forgiving,  and  we  gaze 
Until  desire  grows  wild,  and,  with  our  hands 
Upon  her  very  garments,  are  struck  down, 
Blasted  with  a  consuming  fire  from  heaven  I 


298  NATHANIEL   PARKER    WILLIS 

Yet  oh !     How  full  of  music  from  her  lips 

Breathe  the  calm  tones  of  wisdom  !     Human  praise 

Is  sweet  —  till  envy  mars  it,  and  the  touch 

Of  new-won  gold  stirs  up  the  pulses  well ; 

And  woman's  love,  if  in  a  beggar's  lamp 

'Twould  burn,  might  light  us  clearly  through  the  world  ; 

But  Knowledge  hath  a  far  more  'wildering  tongue, 

And  she  will  stoop  and  lead  you  to  the  stars, 

And  witch  you  with  her  mysteries  —  till  gold 

Is  a  forgotten  dross,  and  power  and  fame, 

Toys  of.  an  hour,  and  woman's  careless  love, 

Light  as  the  breath  that  breaks  it.     He  who  binds 

His  soul  to  knowledge  steals  the  key  of  heaven  — 

But  'tis  a  bitter  mockery  that  the  fruit 

May  hang  within  his  reach,  and  when,  with  thirst 

Wrought  to  a  maddening  frenzy,  he  would  taste  — 

It  burns  his  lips  to  ashes  1 


VI 
DICKENS 


CHARLES   DICKENS 

DICKENS  the  humorist  is  "  by  far  the  most  popular  author  of  recent 
times."  Dickens  the  sentimentalist  has  become  almost  a  memory.  "  All 
critics,  and  the  vast  majority  of  readers,"  says  Henry  J.  Nickell,  "  are  now 
agreed  in  regarding  Dickens's  pathos  as  immeasurably  inferior  to  his  humor, 
looking  upon  the  former  as  coarse  and  unrefined,  and  ridiculously  senti- 
mental ;  yet  at  one  time  not  only  did  thousands  of  ordinary  readers  cry  over 
his  pages,  but  such  men  as  Jeffrey  and  Macready  followed  suit." 

The  greatest  of  novel  writers  was  born  at  Landport,  England,  in  1812. 
His  father,  who  is  portrayed  as  Mr.  Micawber  in  David  Copperfield,  was  a 
clerk  in  one  of  the  Government  offices,  who  essayed  a  role  of  gentility  which 
his  straitened  circumstances  did  not  warrant,  and  was  eventually  thrown 
into  the  debtors'  prison,  the  "  Marshalsea,"  in  London. 

Dickens  received  some  desultory  training  in  elementary  schools  at  Chat- 
ham, when  very  young,  and  then  became  an  office  drudge.  Afterwards  he 
passed  two  years  in  an  academy,  which  he  quitted  at  fourteen  to  become  a 
lawyer's  clerk.  His  father  had  become  a  reporter  for  a  morning  paper  in 
the  metropolis,  and  the  boy  followed  in  his  footsteps. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-two,  Dickens  began  to  write  sketches  for  the  Old 
Monthly  Magazine,  —  which  were  subsequently  reprinted  under  the  name  of 
Sketches  by  Boz.  These  were  followed  by  the  Pickwick  Papers,  a  series  of 
racy  compositions  descriptive  of  a  club  of  London  cockneys.  The  latter 
were  published  monthly,  and  were  illustrated  by  Seymour,  an  artist  of  some 
eminence.  The  popularity  of  these  humorous  delineations  was  so  sudden 
and  so  great  that  the-  author  soon  rose  to  the  editorship  of  a  monthly  maga- 
zine, Bentley's  Miscellanies.  In  its  pages  he  carried  on,  simultaneously  with 
the  later  Pickwick  Papers,  a  work  of  an  entirely  different  character,  the  novel 
entitled  Oliver  Twist.  Nicholas  Nickleby  immediately  followed. 

In  1842  Mr.  Dickens  visited  the  United  States,  where  he  was  cordially 
received.  He  published  his  impressions  of  the  country  in  a  book  entitled 
American  Notes,  for  General  Circulation.  So  severe  was  this  book  in  its  criti- 
cisms of  American  society  and  life,  that  it  largely  alienated  from  him  the 
high  esteem  in  which  he  had  been  held  by  his  American  readers.  Two 
years  later  appeared  another  unfriendly  criticism  on  America,  in  a  different 
form  —  a  satirical  novel  entitled  Martin  Chuzzlewit,  which  in  England  is 

301 


302  CHARLES  DICKENS 

accounted  one  of  his  best  works,  though  highly  offensive  still  to  the  majority 
of  American  readers. 

New  novels  now  appeared  in  rapid  succession.  Dombey  and  Son  and 
David  Copperjield  (both  of  which  contain  satirical  pictures  of  education)  are 
said  to  have  marked  the  highest  attainment  ef  his  genius.  From  this  time 
his  works  became  more  sentimental,  and  less  humorous.  Bleak  House  and 
Hard  Times  (1853  and  1854)  mark  the  transition  in  style.  Then  followed 
Little  Dorrit,  A  Tale  of  Two  Cities,  Great  Expectations,  Our  Mutual  Friend, 
and  The  Mystery  of  Edwin  Drood.  The  latter  was  unfinished  at  the  time  of 
the  author's  death,  in  1870. 

In  1867-8  Mr.  Dickens  visited  America  a  second  time,  was  forgiven  his 
American  Notes  and  Martin  Chuzzlewit,  and  reaped  a  fortune  from  the  gener- 
ous patronage  which  was  given  to  his  readings. 

Dickens  wrote  a  Child's  History  of  England,  in  a  manner  peculiarly  its 
own,  and  was  the  author  of  many  short  stories  and  sketches. 

In  person,  Mr.  Dickens  is  described  as  having  been  vain  and  egotistical. 
His  domestic  relations  were  destroyed  by  his  "  incompatibility  of  temper," 
and  his  wife  separated  from  him.  Yet  he  was  generous  and  liberal  in  his 
advocacy  of  every  good  cause,  fond  of  children,  —  a  real  knight-errant  in  his 
championship  of  the  oppressed  and  the  unfortunate. 

The  humor  of  Dickens  has  been  of  incalculable  benefit  to  society.  It  set 
in  motion  the  forces  for  reform  in  social  life,  in  education,  in  law,  and  in 
government.  It  procured  the  abolition  of  many  evils  which  pressed  espe- 
cially upon  the  young  and  the  poor.  In  Nicholas  Nickleby  he  satirizes  the 
wretched  and  fraudulent  Yorkshire  schools,  to  which  many  illegitimate  chil- 
dren were  sent  to  be  gotten  rid  of ;  in  Dombey  and  Son  he  portrays  the  evils 
of  the  "  cramming  "  process  in  schools  of  a  higher  class.  In  Hard  Times  he 
depicts  a  system  of  education  in  which  the  imagination  is  wholly  unculti- 
vated and  despised. 

The  latter  book  is  of  special  benefit  to  the  school  world,  and  supports  the 
best  educational  thought  of  to-day  by  the  author's  favorite  form  of  argument 
—  the  reduciio  ad  absurdum.  It  would  be  more  acceptable  to  modern  taste 
had  it  been  written  in  a  tone  of  light  humor.  But  the  author  was  intensely 
in  earnest,  and  chose  to  have  his  story  contain  the  tragedy  rather  than  the 
comedy  of  life.  The  Gradgrind  system  of  education  was  utterly  abhor- 
rent to  his  nature;  and  the  reader  will  appreciate  the  biting  sarcasm  of 
Mr.  Gradgrind's  remark  to  his  young  daughter,  on  devoting  her  to  a  loveless 
marriage  with  a  sordid,  heartless  man  of  fifty  years  :  "  It  has  always  been  my 
object  so  to  educate  you,  as  that  you  might,  while  still  in  your  early  youth,  be  (if  I 
may  so  express  myself)  almost  any  age." 

In  that  remarkable  book,  Letters  to  Dead  Authors,  Andrew  Lang  addresses 
the  departed  Dickens,  expressing  the  liveliest  appreciation  of  the  great 


THE  GEADGRIND   SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION  303 

novelist's  humor,  but  deprecating  his  sentimental  passages  over  which  a 
preceding  generation  shed  unaffected  tears. 

"Ah,  sir,"  says  Lang,  "how  could  you  —  who  knew  so  intimately,  who 
remembered  so  strangely  well  the  fancies,  the  dreams,  the  sufferings  of 
childhood,  —  how  could  you  '  wallow  naked  in  the  pathetic,'  and  massacre 
holocausts  of  the  innocents  ? 

"  To  draw  tears  over  a  child's  deathbed,  was  it  worthy  of  you  ?  Was  it 
the  kind  of  work  over  which  our  hearts  should  melt?  I  confess  that  Little 
Nell  might  die  a  dozen  times,  and  be  welcomed  by  whole  legions  of  angels, 
and  I  (like  the  bereaved  fowl  mentioned  by  Marjorie  Fleming)  would 
remain  unmoved. 

'  She  was  more  than  usual  calm,' 

wrote  the  astonishing  child  who  diverted  the  leisure  of  Scott.  Over  your 
Little  Nell  and  your  Little  Dombey,  I  remain  more  than  usual  calm ;  and 
probably  so  do  thousands  of  your  most  sincere  admirers.  .  .  .  When  an 
author  sits  deliberately  down  and  says,  '  Now,  let  us  have  a  good  cry,'  he 
poisons  the  wells  of  sensibility,  and  chokes,  at  least,  in  many  breasts,  the 
fountain  of  tears."  .  .  . 

"  How  poor  the  world  of  fancy  would  be,  how  dispeopled  of  her  dreams, 
if,  in  some  ruin  of  the  social  system,  the  books  of  Dickens  were  lost ;  and  if 
the  Dodger,  and  Charley  Bates,  and  Mr.  Crinkle,  and  Miss  Squeers,  and 
Sam  Weller,  and  Mrs.  Gamp,  and  Dick  Swiveller  were  to  perish !  We  can- 
not think  of  our  world  without  them ;  and,  children  of  dreams  as  they  are, 
they  seem  moi'e  essential  than  are  the  great  statesmen,  artists,  soldiers, 
who  have  actually  worn  flesh  and  blood,  ribbons  and  orders,  gowns  and 
uniforms." 


THE  GRADGRIND  SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION 

(From  Hard  Times) 

I.     THE   ONE  THING  NEEDFUL 

"Now,  what  I  want  is  Facts.  Teach  these  boys  and  girls 
nothing  but  Facts.  Facts  alone  are  wanted  in  life.  Plant 
nothing  else,  and  root  out  everything  else.  You  can  only  form 
the  minds  of  reasoning  animals  upon  Facts ;  nothing  else  will 
ever  be  of  any  service  to  them.  This  is  the  principle  on  which 


304  CHARLES  DICKENS 

I  bring  up  my  own  children  and  this  is  the  principle  on  which 
I  bring  up  these  children.  Stick  to  Facts,  Sir ! " 

The  scene  was  a  plain,  bare,  monotonous  vault  of  a  school- 
room, and  the  speaker's  square  forefinger  emphasized  his  ob- 
servations by  underscoring  every  sentence  with  a  line  on  the 
schoolmaster's  sleeve.  The  emphasis  was  helped  by  the  speak- 
er's square  wall  of  a  forehead,  which  had  his  eyebrows  for  its 
base,  while  his  eyes  found  commodious  cellarage  in  two  dark 
caves,  overshadowed  by  the  wall.  The  emphasis  was  helped 
by  the  speaker's  nrouth,  which  was  wide,  thin,  and  hard  set. 
The  emphasis  was  helped  by  the  speaker's  voice,  which  was 
inflexible,  dry,  and  dictatorial.  The  emphasis  was  helped  by 
the  speaker's  hair,  which  bristled  on  the  skirts  of  his  bald  head, 
a  plantation  of  firs  to  keep  the  wind  from  its  shining  surface, 
all  covered  with  knobs,  like  the  crust  of  a  plum  pie,  as  if  the 
head  had  scarcely  warehouse-room  for  the  hard  facts  stored 
inside.  The  speaker's  obstinate  carriage,  square  coat,  square 
legs,  square  shoulders,  —  nay,  his  very  neckcloth,  trained  to 
take  him  by  the  throat  with  an  unaccommodating  grasp,  like 
a  stubborn  fact,  as  it  was,  —  all  helped  the  emphasis. 

"  In  this  life,  we  want  nothing  but  Facts,  Sir ;  nothing  but 
Facts  !  " 

The  speaker,  and  the  schoolmaster,  and  the  third  grown 
person  present,  all  backed  a  little,  and  swept  with  their  eyes 
the  inclined  plane  of  little  vessels  then  and  there  arranged  in 
order,  ready  to  have  imperial  gallons  of  facts  poured  into  them 
until  they  were  full  to  the  brim. 

II.    MURDERING  THE  INNOCENTS 

Thomas  Gradgrind,  Sir.  A  man  of  realities.  A  man  of 
facts  and  calculations.  A  man  who  proceeds  upon  the  principle 
that  two  and  two  are  four,  and  nothing  over,  and  who  is  not  to 
be  talked  into  allowing  for  anything  over.  Thomas  Gradgrind, 
Sir  —  peremptorily  Thomas  —  Thomas  Gradgrind.  With  a  rule 
and  a  pair  of  scales,  and  the  multiplication  table  always  in  his 


305 

pocket,  Sir,  ready  to  weigh  and  measure  any  parcel  of  human 
nature,  and  tell  you  exactly  what  it  comes  to.  It  is  a  mere 
question  of  figures,  a  case  of  simple  arithmetic.  You  might 
hope  to  get  some  other  nonsensical  belief  into  the  head  of 
George  Gradgrind,  or  Augustus  Gradgrind,  or  John  Gradgrind, 
or  Joseph  Gradgrind  (all  suppositions,  non-existent  persons), 
but  into  the  head  of  Thomas  Gradgrind  —  no,  Sir ! 

In  such  terms  Mr.  Gradgrind  always  mentally  introduces 
himself,  whether  to  his  private  circle  of  acquaintance,  or  to  the 
public  in  general.  In  such  terms,  no  doubt,  substituting  the 
words  "boys  and  girls,"  for  "sir,"  Thomas  Gradgrind  now 
presented  Thomas  Gradgrind  to  the  little  pitchers  before  him, 
who  were  to  be  filled  so  full  of  facts. 

Indeed,  as  he  eagerly  sparkled  at  them  from  the  cellarage 
before  mentioned,  he  seemed  a  kind  of  cannon  loaded  to  the 
muzzle  with  facts,  and  prepared  to  blow  them  clean  out  of  the 
regions  of  childhood  at  one  discharge.  He  seemed  a  galvaniz- 
ing apparatus,  too,  charged  with  a  grim  mechanical  substitute 
for  the  tender  young  imaginations  that  were  to  be  stormed 
away. 

"  Girl  Number  Twenty,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  squarely  point- 
ing with  his  square  forefinger,  "  I  don't  know  that  girl.  Who 
is  that  girl?" 

"  Sissy  Jupe,  Sir,"  explained  number  twenty,  blushing,  stand, 
ing  up,  and  courtesying. 

"  Sissy  is  not  a  name,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind.  "  Don't  call 
yourself  Sissy.  Call  yourself  Cecilia." 

"  It's  father  as  calls  me  Sissy,  Sir,"  returned  the  young  girl 
in  a  trembling  voice,  and  with  another  courtesy. 

"Then  he  has  no  business  to  do  it,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind. 
"  Tell  him  he  mustn't.  Cecilia  Jupe.  Let  me  see.  What  is 
your  father  ?  " 

"He  belongs  to  the  horse-riding,  if  you  please,  Sir." 

Mr.  Gradgrind  frowned,  and  waved  off  the  objectionable 
calling  with  his  hand. 

"  We  don't  want  to  know  anything  about  that,  here.     You 

SCH.   IN  COM.  —  20 


306  CHARLES  DICKENS 

mustn't  tell  us  about  that,  here.  Your  father  breaks  horses, 
don't  he?" 

"  If  you  please,  Sir,  when  they  can  get  any  to  break,  they  do 
break  horses  in  the  ring,  Sir." 

"  You  mustn't  tell  us  about  the  ring,  here.  Very  well,  then. 
Describe  your  father  as  a  horsebreaker.  He  doctors  sick 
horses,  I  dare  say?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  Sir." 

"  Very  well,  then.  He  is  a  veterinary  surgeon,  a  farrier,  and 
horsebreaker.  Give  me  your  definition  of  a  horse." 

(Sissy  Jupe  thrown  into  the  greatest  alarm  by  this  demand.) 

"  Girl  Number  Twenty  unable  to  define  a  horse ! "  said  Mr. 
Gradgrind,  for  the  general  behoof  of  all  the  little  pitchers. 
"  Girl  Number  Twenty  possessed  of  no  facts,  in  reference  to 
one  of  the  commonest  of  animals  !  Some  boy's  definition  of  a 
horse.  Bitzer,  yours." 

The  square  finger,  moving  here  and  there,  lighted  suddenly 
on  Bitzer,  perhaps  because  he  chanced  to  sit  in  the  same  ray 
of  sunlight  which,  darting  in  at  one  of  the  bare  windows  of 
the  intensely  whitewashed  room,  irradiated  Sissy.  For  the 
boys  and  girls  sat  on  the  face  of  the  inclined  plane  in  two 
compact  bodies,  divided  up  the  center  by  a  narrow  interval ; 
and  Sissy,  being  at  the  corner  of  a  row  on  the  sunny  side, 
came  in  for  the  beginning  of  a  sunbeam,  of  which  Bitzer,  being 
at  the  corner  of  a  row  on  the  other  side,  a  few  rows  in  advance, 
caught  the  end.  But  whereas  the  girl  was  so  dark-eyed  and 
dark-haired  that  she  seemed  to  receive  a  deeper  and  more 
lustrous  color  from  the  sun,  when  it  shone  upon  her,  the  boy 
was  so  light-eyed  and  light-haired  that  the  selfsame  rays 
appeared  to  draw  out  of  him  what  little  color  he  ever  pos- 
sessed. His  cold  eyes  would  hardly  have  been  eyes,  but  for 
the  short  ends  of  lashes  which,  by  bringing  them  into  imme- 
diate contrast  with  something  paler  than  themselves,  expressed 
their  form.  His  short-cropped  hair  might  have  been  a  mere 
continuation  of  the  sandy  freckles  on  his  forehead  and  face. 
His  skin  was  so  un wholesomely  deficient  in  the  natural  tinge 


THE  GRADGRINI)   SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION  307 

that  he  looked  as  though,  if  he  were  cut,  he  would  bleed 
white. 

"Bitzer,"  said  Thomas  Gradgrind.  "Your  definition  of  a 
horse." 

"  Quadruped.  Graminivorous.  Forty  teeth ;  namely,  twenty- 
four  grinders,  four  eyeteeth,  and  twelve  incisive.  Sheds  coat 
in  the  spring;  in  marshy  countries,  sheds  hoofs,  too.  Hoofs 
hard,  but  requiring  to  be  shod  with  iron.  Age  known  by 
marks  in  mouth."  Thus  (and  much  more)  Bitzer. 

"  Now,  Girl  Number  Twenty,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind.  "  You 
know  what  a  horse  is." 

She  courtesied  again,  and  would  have  blushed  deeper,  if  she 
could  have  blushed  deeper  than  she  had  blushed  all  this  time. 
Bitzer,  after  rapidly  blinking  at  Thomas  Gradgrind  with  both 
eyes  at  once,  and  so  catching  the  light  upon  his  quivering  ends 
of  lashes  that  they  looked  like  the  antennae  of  busy  insects, 
ptft  his  knuckles  to  his  freckled  forehead,  and  sat  down 
again. 

The  third  gentleman  now  stepped  forth.  A  mighty  man  at 
cutting  and  drying  he  was  ;  a  government  officer  ;  in  his  way 
(and  in  most  other  people's  too),  a  professed  pugilist ;  always 
in  training,  always  with  a  system  to  force  down  the  general 
throat  like  a  bolus,  always  to  be  heard  of  at  the  bar  of  his 
little  public  office,  ready  to  fight  all  England.  To  continue 
in  fistic  phraseology,  he  had  a  genius  for  coming  up  to  the 
scratch,  wherever  and  whatever  it  was,  and  proving  himself 
an  ugly  customer.  He  would  go  in  and  damage  any  subject 
whatever  with  his  right,  follow  up  with  his  left,  stop,  exchange, 
counter,  bore  his  opponent  (he  always  fought  All  England)  to 
the  ropes,  and  fall  upon  him  neatly.  He  was  certain  to  knock 
the  wind  out  of  common  sense,  and  render  that  unlucky  adver- 
sary deaf  to  the  call  of  time.  And  he  had  it  in  charge  from 
high  authority  to  bring  about  the  great  public  office  Millen- 
nium, when  Commissioners  should  reign  upon  earth. 

"Very  well,"  said  this  gentleman,  briskly  smiling,  and 
folding  his  arms.  "That's  a  horse.  Now,  let  me  ask  you  girls 


308  CHARLES  DICKENS 

and  boys,  Would  you  paper  a  room  with  representations  of 
horses  ?  " 

After  a  pause,  one  half  of  the  children  cried  in  chorus, 
"  Yes,  Sir ! "  Upon  which  the  other  half,  seeing  in  the  gen- 
tleman's face  that  yes  was  wrong,  cried  out  in  chorus,  "No, 
Sir ! "  —  as  the  custom  is  in  these  examinations. 

"  Of  course,  no.     Why  wouldn't  you  ?  " 

A  pause.  One  corpulent  slow  boy,  with  a  wheezy  manner 
of  breathing,  ventured  the  answer,  because  he  wouldn't  paper 
a  room  at  all,  but  would  paint  it. 

"  You  must  paper  it,"  said  the  gentleman,  rather  warmly. 

"You  must  paper  it,"  said  Thomas  Gradgrind,  "whether 
you  like  it  or  not.  Don't  tell  us  you  wouldn't  paper  it.  What 
do  you  mean,  boy  ?  " 

"  I'll  explain  to  you,  then,"  said  the  gentleman,  after  another 
and  a  dismal  pause,  "why  you  wouldn't  paper  a  room  with 
representations  of  horses.  Do  you  ever  see  horses  walking*  up 
and  down  the  sides  of  rooms  in  reality  —  in  fact  ?  Do  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Sir ! "  from  one  half.     "  No,  Sir  I "  from  the  other. 

"  Of  course,  no,"  said  the  gentleman,  with  an  indignant  look 
at  the  wrong  half.  "  Why,  then,  you  are  not  to  see  anywhere 
what  you  don't  see  in  fact ;  you  are  not  to  have  anywhere  what 
you  don't  have  in  fact.  What  is  called  Taste  is  only  another 
name  for  Fact." 

Thomas  Gradgrind  nodded  his  approbation. 

"This  is  a  new  principle,  a  discovery,  a  great  discovery," 
said  the  gentleman.  "  Now,  I'll  try  you  again.  Suppose  you 
were  going  to  carpet  a  room.  Would  you  use  a  carpet  having 
a  representation  of  flowers  upon  it?" 

There  being  a  general  conviction  by  this  time  that  "No, 
Sir  !  "  was  always  the  right  answer  to  this  gentleman,  the 
chorus  of  "No"  was  very  strong.  Only  a  few  feeble  strag- 
glers said  "  Yes  "  ;  among  them  Sissy  Jupe. 

"  Girl  Number  Twenty,"  said  the  gentleman,  smiling  in  the 
calm  strength  of  knowledge. 

Sissy  blushed,  and  stood  up. 


THE  GRADGRIND  SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION  309 

"  So  you  would  carpet  your  room  —  or  your  husband's  room, 
if  you  were  a  grown  woman,  and  had  a  husband  —  with  repre- 
sentations of  flowers,  would  you  ?  "  said  the  gentleman.  ' '  Why 
would  you  ?  ' ' 

' '  If  you  please,  Sir,  I  am  very  fond  of  flowers, ' '  returned 
the  girl. 

' '  And  is  that  why  you  would  put  tables  and  chairs  upon 
them,  and  have  people  walking  over  them  with  heavy  boots  ?  ' ' 

"It  wouldn't  hurt  them,  Sir.  They  wouldn't  crush  and 
wither,  if  you  please,  Sir.  They  would  be  the  pictures  of 
what  was  very  pretty  and  pleasant,  and  I  would  fancy  — ' ' 

"Ay,  ay,  ay  !  But  you  mustn't  fancy,"  cried  the  gentle- 
man, quite  elated  by  coming  so  happily  to  his  point.  "  That's 
it  !  You  are  never  to  fancy. ' ' 

"You  are  not,  Cecilia  Jupe,"  Thomas  Gradgrind  solemnly 
repeated,  "to  do  anything  of  that  kind." 

"  Fact,  fact,  fact !  "  said  the  gentleman.  And  "Fact,  fact, 
fact !  "  repeated  Thomas  Gradgrind. 

' '  You  are  to  be  in  all  things  regulated  and  governed, ' '  said 
the  gentleman,  "by  fact.  We  hope  to  have,  before  long,  a 
Board  of  Fact,  composed  of  Commissioners  of  Fact,  who  will 
force  the  people  to  be  a  people  of  fact,  and  of  nothing  but 
fact.  You  must  discard  the  word  fancy  altogether.  You 
have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  You  are  not  to  have,  in  any 
object  of  use  or  ornament,  what  would  be  a  contradiction  in 
fact.  You  don't  walk  upon  flowers  in  fact ;  you  cannot  be 
allowed  to  walk  upon  flowers  in  carpets.  You  don't  find  that 
foreign  birds  and  butterflies  come  and  perch  upon  your  crock- 
ery ;  you  cannot  be  permitted  to  paint  foreigfr  birds  and  but- 
terflies upon  your  crockery.  You  never  meet  with  quadrupeds 
going  up  and  down  walls ;  you  must  not  have  quadrupeds 
represented  upon  walls.  You  must  use,"  said  the  gentle- 
man, "for  all  these  purposes,  combinations  and  modifications 
(in  primary  colors)  of  mathematical  figures  which  are  suscep- 
tible of  proof  and  demonstration.  This  is  the  new  discovery. 
This  is  fact.  This  is  taste." 


310  CHARLES  DICKENS 

The  girl  courtesied,  and  sat  down.  She  was  very  young, 
and  she  looked  as  if  she  were  frightened  by  the  matter  of  fact 
prospect  the  world  afforded. 

"Now,  if  Mr.  M'Choakumchild,"  said  the  gentleman,  "will 
proceed  to  give  his  first  lesson  here,  Mr.  Gradgrind,  I  shall  be 
happy,  at  your  request,  to  observe  his  mode  of  procedure." 

Mr.  Gradgrind  was  much  obliged.  "  Mr.  M'Choakumchild, 
we  only  wait  for  you." 

So,  Mr.  M'Choakumchild  began  in  his  best  manner.  He  and 
some  one  hundred  and  forty  other  schoolmasters  had  been  lately 
turned  at  the  same  time,  in  the  same  factory,  on  the  same  prin- 
ciples, like  so  many  pianoforte  legs.  He  had  been  put  through 
an  immense  variety  of  paces,  and  had  answered  volumes  of 
head-breaking  questions.  Orthography,  etymology,  syntax, 
and  prosody,  biography,  astronomy,  geography,  and  general 
cosmography,  the  sciences  of  compound  proportion,  algebra, 
land  surveying  and  leveling,  vocal  music,  and  drawing  from 
models,  were  all  at  the  ends  of  his  ten  chilled  fingers.  He  had 
worked  his  stony  way  into  Her  Majesty's  most  Honorable  Privy 
Council's  Schedule  B,  and  had  taken  the  bloom  off  the  higher 
branches  of  mathematics  and  physical  science,  French,  German, 
Latin,  and  Greek.  He  knew  all  about  all  the  watersheds  of 
all  the  world  (whatever  they  are),  arid  all  the  histories  of  all 
the  peoples,  and  all  the  names  of  all  the  rivers  and  mountains, 
and  all  the  productions,  manners,  and  customs  of  all  the  coun- 
tries, and  all  their  boundaries  and  bearings  on  the  two  and 
thirty  points  of  the  compass.  Ah,  rather  overdone,  M'Choak- 
umchild. If  he  had  only  learnt  a  little  less,  how  infinitely 
better  he  might" have  taught  much  more  ! 

He  went  to  work  in  this  preparatory  lesson,  not  unlike  Mor- 
giana  in  the  Forty  Thieves  :  looking  into  all  the  vessels  ranged 
before  him,  one  after  another,  to  see  what  they  contained. 
Say,  good  M'Choakumchild,  when,  from  thy  boiling  store, 
thou  shalt  fill  each  jar  brim  full  by  and  by,  dost  thou  think 
that  thou  wilt  always  kill  outright  the  robber  Fancy  lurking 
within,  or  sometimes  only  maim  him  and  distort  him  ? 


THE   GRADGRIND   SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION  311 


III.   A  LOOPHOLE 

Mr.  Gradgrind  walked  homeward  from  the  school  in  a  state 
of  considerable  satisfaction.  It  was  his  school  and  he  intended 
it  to  be  a  model.  He  intended  every  child  in  it  to  be  a  model 
—  just  as  the  young  Gradgrinds  were  all  models. 

There  were  five  young  Gradgrinds,  and  they  were  models, 
every  one.  They  had  been  lectured  at,  from  their  tenderest 
years  ;  coursed,  like  little  hares.  Almost  as  soon  as  they  could 
run  alone,  they  had  been  made  to  run  to  the  lecture  room. 
The  first  object  with  which  they  had  an  association,  or  of 
which  they  had  a  remembrance,  was  a  large  blackboard  with 
a  dry  ogre  chalking  ghastly  white  figures  on  it. 

Not  that  they  knew,  by  name  or  nature,  anything  about  an 
ogre.  Fact  forbid  !  I  only  use  the  word  to  express  a  mon- 
ster in  a  lecturing  castle,  with  Heaven-knows-how-many  heads 
manipulated  into  one,  taking  childhood  captive,  and  dragging 
it  into  gloomy  statistical  dens  by  the  hair. 

No  little  Gradgrind  had  ever  seen  a  face  in  the  moon  ;  it 
was  "up"  in  the  moon  before  it  could  speak  distinctly.  No 
little  Gradgrind  had  ever  learnt  the  silly  jingle, 

Twinkle,  twinkle,  little  star ; 
How  I  wonder  what  you  are  ! 

No  little  Gradgrind  had  ever  known  wonder  on  the  subject, 
each  little  Gradgrind  having  at  five  years  old  dissected  the 
Great  Bear  like  a  Professor  Owen,  and  driven  Charles's  Wain 
like  a  locomotive  engine  driver.  No  little  Gradgrind  had 
ever  associated  a  cow  in  a  field  with  that  famous  — 

Cow  with  the  crumpled  horn, 
Who  tossed  the  dog, 
Who  worried  the  cat, 
Who  killed  the  rat, 
Who  ate  the  malt, 

or   with   that   yet    more   famous    cow   who    swallowed    Tom 
Thumb  ;  it  had  never  heard  of  those  celebrities,  and  had  only 


312  CHARLES    DICKENS 

been  introduced  to  a  cow  as  a  graminivorous  ruminating 
quadruped  with  several  stomachs. 

To  his  matter  of  fact  home,  which  was  called  Stone  Lodge, 
Mr.  Gradgrind  directed  his  steps.  He  had  virtually  retired 
from  the  wholesale  hardware  trade  before  he  built  Stone  Lodge, 
and  was  now  looking  about  for  a  suitable  opportunity  of  mak- 
ing an  arithmetical  figure  in  Parliament.  Stone  Lodge  was 
situated  on  a  moor  within  a  mile  or  two  of  a  great  town  — 
called  Coketown  in  the  present  faithful  guide  book. 

A  very  regular  feature  on  the  face  of  the  country  Stone 
Lodge  was.  Not  the  least  disguise  toned  down  or  shaded  off 
that  uncompromising  fact  in  the  landscape.  A  great,  square 
house,  with  a  heavy  portico  darkening  the  principal  windows, 
as  its  master's  heavy  brows  overshadowed  his  eyes.  A  calcu- 
lated, cast-up,  balanced,  and  proved  house.  Six  windows  on 
this  side  of  the  door,  six  on  that  side  ;  a  total  of  twelve  in  this 
wing,  a  total  of  twelve  in  the  other  wing  ;  four-and-twenty 
carried  over  to  the  back  wings.  A  lawn  and  garden  and  an 
infant  avenue,  all  ruled  straight  like  a  botanical  account  book. 
Gas  and  ventilation,  drainage  and  water  service,  all  of  the 
primest  quality.  Iron  clamps  and  girders,  fireproof  from  top 
to  bottom  ;  mechanical  lifts  for  the  housemaids,  with  all  their 
brushes  and  brooms  ;  everything  that  heart  could  desire. 

Everything?  Well,  I  suppose  so.  The  little  Gradgrinds 
had  cabinets  in  various  departments  of  science,  too.  They  had 
a  little  conchological  cabinet,  and  a  little  metallurgical  cabinet, 
and  a  little  mineralogical  cabinet ;  and  the  specimens  were  all 
arranged  and  labeled,  and  the  bits  of  stone  and  ore  looked  as 
though  they  might  have  been  broken  from  the  parent  sub- 
stances by  those  tremendously  hard  instruments,  their  own 
names  ;  and,  to  paraphrase  the  idle  legend  of  Peter  Piper,  who 
had  never  found  his  way  into  their  nursery  —  if  the  greedy 
little  Gradgrinds  grasped  at  more  than  this,  what  was  it  for 
good  gracious  goodness'  sake,  that  the  greedy  little  Gradgrinds 
grasped  at  ! 

Their  father  walked  on  in  a  hopeful  and  satisfied  frame  of 


THE    GRADORIND   SYSTEM   OF   EDUCATION  313 

mind.  He  was  an  affectionate  father,  after  his  manner  ;  but 
he  would  probably  have  described  himself  (if  he  had  been  put, 
like  Sissy  Jupe,  upon  a  definition)  as  "an  eminently  practical" 
father.  He  had  a  particular  pride  in  the  phrase  eminently 
practical,  which  was  considered  to  have  a  special  application 
to  him.  Whatsoever  the  public  meeting  held  in  Coketown, 
and  whatsoever  the  subject  of  such  meeting,  some  Coketowner 
was  sure  to  seize  the  occasion  of  alluding  to  his  eminently  prac- 
tical friend  Gradgrind.  This  always  pleased  the  eminently 
practical  friend.  He  knew  it  to  be  his  due,  but  his  due  was 
acceptable. 

He  had  reached  the  neutral  ground  upon  the  outskirts  of  the 
town,  which  was  neither  town  nor  country,  and  yet  was  either 
spoiled,  when  his  ears  were  invaded  by  the  sound  of  music. 
The  clashing  and  banging  band  attached  to  the  horse-riding 
establishment  which  had  there  set  up  its  rest  in  a  wooden  pavil- 
ion was  in  full  bray.  A  flag,  floating  from  the  summit  of  the 
temple,  proclaimed  to  mankind  that  it  was  "  Sleary 's  Horse- 
riding"  which  claimed  their  suffrages.  Sleary  himself,  a  stout 
modern  statue  with  a  money  box  at  its  elbow,  in  an  ecclesias- 
tical niche  of  early  Gothic  architecture,  took  the  money.  Miss 
Josephine  Sleary,  as  some  very  long  and  some  very  narrow 
strips  of  printed  bill  announced,  was  then  inaugurating  the 
entertainments  with  her  graceful  equestrian  Tyrolean  flower 
act.  Among  the  other  pleasing  but  always  strictly  moral 
wonders  which  must  be  seen  to  be  believed,  Signor  Jupe  was 
that  afternoon  to  ' '  elucidate  the  diverting  accomplishments  of 
his  highly  trained  performing  dog  Merrylegs."  He  was  also 
to  exhibit  ' '  his  astounding  feat  of  throwing  seventy-five  hun- 
dredweight in  rapid  succession  backhanded  over  his  head,  thus 
forming  a  fountain  of  solid  iron  in  mid- air,  a  feat  never  before 
attempted  in  this  or  any  other  country,  and  which  having 
elicited  such  rapturous  plaudits  from  enthusiastic  throngs  it 
cannot  be  withdrawn."  The  same  Signor  Jupe  was  to  "  enliven 
the  varied  performances  at  frequent  intervals  with  his  chaste 
Shakspearean  quips  and  retorts. ' '  Lastly,  he  was  to  wind  them 


314  CHARLES    DICKENS 

up  by  appearing  in  his  favorite  character  of  Mr.  William 
Button,  of  Tooley  Street,  in  "the  highly  novel  and  laughable 
hippo-comedietta  of  The  Tailor's  Journey  to  Brentford." 

Thomas  Gradgrind  took  no  heed  of  these  trivialities  of  course, 
but  passed  on  as  a  practical  man  ought  to  pass  on,  either  brush- 
ing the  noisy  insects  from  his  thoughts,  or  consigning  them  to 
the  House  of  Correction.  But  the  turning  of  the  road  took 
him  by  the  back  of  the  booth,  and  at  the  back  of  the  booth  a 
number  of  children  were  congregated  in  a  number  of  stealthy 
attitudes,  striving  to  peep  in  at  the  hidden  glories  of  the  place. 

This  brought  him  to  a  stop.  ' '  Now,  to  think  of  these  vaga- 
bonds," said  he,  "attracting  the  young  rabble  from  a  model 
school." 

A  space  of  stunted  grass  and  dry  rubbish  being  between  him 
and  the  young  rabble,  he  took  his  eyeglass  out  of  his  waistcoat 
to  look  for  any  child  he  knew  by  name,  and  might  order  off. 
Phenomenon  almost  incredible  though  distinctly  seen,  what 
did  he  then  behold  but  his  own  metallurgical  Louisa,  peeping 
with  all  her  might  through  a  hole  in  a  deal  board,  and  his  own 
mathematical  Thomas  abasing  himself  on  the  ground  to  catch 
but  a  hoof  of  the  graceful  equestrian  Tyrolean  flower  act ! 

Dumb  with  amazement,  Mr.  Gradgrind  crossed  to  the  spot  to 
where  his  family  was  thus  disgraced,  laid  his  hand  upon  each 
erring  child,  and  said: 

"Louisa  !  !     Thomas!  !" 

Both  rose,  red  and  disconcerted.  But  Louisa  looked  at  her 
father  with  more  boldness  than  Thomas  did.  Indeed,  Thomas 
did  not  look  at  him,  but  gave  himself  up  to  be  taken  home  like 
a  machine. 

"In  the  name  of  wonder,  idleness,  and  folly,"  said  Mr. 
Gradgrind,  leading  each  away  by  the  hand ;  ' '  what  do  you  do 
here?" 

"Wanted  to  see  what  it  was  like,"  returned  Louisa,  shortly. 

"What  it  was  like?" 

"Yes,  Father." 

There  was  an  air  of  jaded  snllenness  in  them  both,  and  par- 


315 

ticularly  in  the  girl ;  yet,  struggling  through  the  dissatisfaction 
of  her  face,  there  was  a  light  with  nothing  to  rest  upon,  a  fire 
with  nothing  to  burn,  a  starved  imagination  keeping  life  in 
itself  somehow,  which  brightened  its  expression.  Not  with 
the  brightness  natural  to  cheerful  youth,  but  with  uncertain, 
eager,  doubtful  flashes,  which  had  something  painful  in  them, 
analogous  to  the  changes  on  a  blind  face  groping  its  way. 

She  was  a  child,  now,  of  fifteen  or  sixteen;  but  at  no  distant 
day  would  seem  to  become  a  woman  all  at  once.  Her  father 
thought  so,  as  he  looked  at  her.  She  was  pretty  —  would  have 
been  self-willed  (he  thought,  in  his  eminently  practical  way), 
but  for  her  bringing  up. 

"Thomas,  though  I  have  the  fact  before  me,  I  find  it  diffi- 
cult to  believe  that  you,  with  your  education  and  resources, 
should  have  brought  your  sister  to  a  scene  like  this. ' ' 

"I  brought  him,  Father,"  said  Louisa,  quickly.  "I  asked 
him  to  come." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it.  I  am  very  sorry  indeed  to  hear 
it.  It  makes  Thomas  no  better,  and  it  makes  you  worse, 
Louisa." 

She  looked  at  her  father  again,  but  no  tear  fell  down  her  cheek. 

' '  You  !  Thomas  and  you,  to  whom  the  circle  of  the  sciences 
is  open;  Thomas  and  you,  who  may  be  said  to  be  replete  with 
facts  ;  Thomas  and  you,  who  have  been  trained  to  mathemati- 
cal exactness ;  Thomas  and  you,  here  !  "  cried  Mr.  Gradgrind. 
"  In  this  degraded  position  !  I  am  amazed  !  " 

"  I  was  tired,  Father.  I  have  been  tired  a  long  time,"  said 
Louisa. 

"  Tired  ?     Of  what  ?  "  asked  the  astonished  father. 

"  I  don't  know  of  what  —  of  everything,  I  think." 

"Say  not  another  word,"  returned  Mr.  Gradgrind.  "You 
are  childish.  I  will  hear  no  more."  He  did  not  speak  again 
until  they  had  walked  some  half  a  mile  in  silence,  when  he 
gravely  broke  out  with  :  "  What  would  your  best  friends  say, 
Louisa  ?  Do  you  attach  no  value  to  their  good  opinion  ?  What 
would  Mr.  Bounderby  say  ?  " 


316  CHARLES  DICKENS 

At  the  mention  of  this  name,  his  daughter  stole  a  look  at 
him,  remarkable  for  its  intense  and  searching  character.  He 
saw  nothing  of  it,  for  before  he  looked  at  her,  she  had  again 
cast  down  her  eyes  ! 

"What,"  he  repeated  presently,  "would  Mr.  Bounderby 
say  ?  ' '  All  the  way  to  Stone  Lodge,  as  with  grave  indignation 
he  led  the  two  delinquents  home,  he  repeated  at  intervals, 
"What  would  Mr.  Bounderby  say?"  —  as  if  Mr.  Bounderby 
had  been  Mrs.  Grundy. 

IV.    MB.  BOUNDERBY 

Not  being  Mrs.  Grundy,  who  was  Mr.  Bounderby  ? 

Why,  Mr.  Bounderby  was  as  near  being  Mr.  Gradgrind's 
bosom  friend,  as  a  man  perfectly  devoid  of  sentiment  can  ap- 
proach that  spiritual  relationship  towards  another  man  per- 
fectly devoid  of  sentiment.  So  near  was  Mr.  Bounderby  —  or, 
if  the  reader  should  prefer  it,  so  far  off. 

He  was  a  rich  man  —  banker,  merchant,  manufacturer,  and 
what  not.  A  big,  loud  man,  with  a  stare,  and  a  metallic  laugh. 
A  man  made  out  of  a  coarse  material,  which  seemed  to  have 
been  stretched  to  make  so  much  of  him.  A  man  with  a  great 
puffed  head  and  forehead,  swelled  veins  in  his  temples,  and 
such  a  strained  skin  to  his  face  that  it  seemed  to  hold  his  eyes 
open,  and  lift  his  eyebrows  up.  A  man  with  a  pervading  ap- 
pearance on  him  of  being  inflated  like  a  balloon,  and  ready  to 
start.  A  man  who  could  never  sufficiently  vaunt  himself  a 
self-made  man.  A  man  who  was  always  proclaiming,  through 
that  brassy  speaking-trumpet  of  a  voice  of  his,  his  old  igno- 
rance and  his  old  poverty.  A  man  who  was  the  bully  of 
humility. 

A  year  or  two  younger  than  his  eminently  practical  friend, 
Mr.  Bounderby  looked  older;  his  seven  or  eight  and  forty 
might  have  had  the  seven  or  eight  added  to  it  again,  without 
surprising  anybody.  He  had  not  much  hair.  One  might  have 
fancied  he  had  talked  it  off ;  and  that  what  was  left,  all  stand- 


THE  GRADGRIND   SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION  317 

ing  up  in  disorder,  was  in  that  condition  from  being  constantly 
blown  about  by  his  windy  boastfulness. 

In  the  formal  drawing-room  of  Stone  Lodge,  standing  on  the 
hearthrug,  warming  himself  before  the  fire,  Mr.  Bounderby 
delivered  some  observations  to  Mrs.  Gradgrind  on  the  circum- 
stance of  its  being  his  birthday.  He  stood  before  the  fire, 
partly  because  it  was  a  cool  spring  afternoon,  though  the  sun 
shone  ;  partly  because  the  shade  of  Stone  Lodge  was  always 
haunted  by  the  ghost  of  damp  mortar ;  partly  because  he  thus 
took  up  a  commanding  position,  from  which  to  subdue  Mrs. 
Gradgrind. 

"  I  hadn't  a  shoe  to  my  foot.  As  to  a  stocking,  I  didn't 
know  such  a  thing  by  name.  I  passed  the  day  in  a  ditch,  and 
the  night  in  a  pigsty.  That's  the  way  I  spent  my  tenth  birth- 
day. Not  that  a  ditch  was  new  to  me,  for  I  was  born  in  a 
ditch." 

Mrs.  Gradgrind,  a  little,  thin,  white,  pink-eyed  bundle  of 
shawls,  of  surpassing  feebleness,  mental  and  bodily,  who  was 
always  taking  physic  without  any  effect,  and  who,  whenever 
she  showed  a  symptom  of  coming  to  life,  was  in  variably  stunned 
by  some  weighty  piece  of  fact  tumbling  on  her — Mrs.  Gradgrind 
hoped  it  was  a  dry  ditch  ? 

"  No  !  As  wet  as  a  sop.  A  foot  of  water  in  it,"  said  Mr. 
Bounderby. 

"Enough  to  give  a  baby  cold,"  Mrs.  Gradgrind  considered. 

"  Cold?  I  was  born  with  inflammation  of  the  lungs,  and  of 
everything  else,  I  believe,  that  was  capable  of  inflammation," 
returned  Mr.  Bounderby.  "For  years,  ma'am,  I  was  one  of 
the  most  miserable  little  wretches  ever  seen.  I  was  so  sickly 
that  I  was  always  moaning  and  groaning.  I  was  so  ragged 
and  dirty  that  you  wouldn't  have  touched  me  with  a  pair  of 
tongs." 

Mrs.  Gradgrind  faintly  looked  at  the  tongs,  as  the  most 
appropriate  thing  her  imbecility  could  think  of  doing. 

"How  I  fought  through  it,  /don't  know,"  said  Bounderby. 
"I  was  determined,  I  suppose.  I  have  been  a  determined 


318  CIIAIiLES  DICKENS 

character  in  later  life,  and  I  suppose  I  was  then.  Here  I  am, 
Mrs.  Gradgrind,  anyhow,  and  nobody  to  thank  for  my  being 
here,  but  myself." 

Mrs.  Gradgrind  meekly  and  weakly  hoped  that  his  mother  — 

^  My  mother?     Bolted,  ma'am  !  "  said  Bouiiderby. 

Mrs.  Gradgrind,  stunned  as  usual,  collapsed  and  gave  it  up. 

"My  mother  left  me  to  my  grandmother,"  said  Bouiiderby ; 
"and,  according  to  the  best  of  my  remembrance,  my  grand- 
mother was  the  wickedest  and  the  worst  old  woman  that  ever 
lived.  If  1  got  a  little  pair  of  shoes  by  any  chance,  she  would 
take  'em  off  and  sell  'em  for  drink.  Why,  I  have  known  that 
grandmother  of  mine  lie  in  her  bed  and  drink  her  fourteen 
glasses  of  liquor  before  breakfast  !  " 

Mrs.  Gradgrind,  weakly  smiling,  and  giving  no  other  sign  of 
vitality,  looked  (as  she  always  did)  like  an  indifferently  exe- 
cuted transparency  of  a  small  female  figure,  without  enough 
light  behind  it. 

"She  kept  a  chandler's  shop,"  pursued  Bouiiderby,  "and 
kept  me  in  an  egg  box.  That  was  the  cot  of  my  infancy  ;  an 
old  egg  box.  As  soon  as  I  was  big  enough  to  run  away,  of 
course,  I  ran  away.  Then  I  became  a  young  vagabond  ;  and 
instead  of  one  old  woman  knocking  me  about  and  starving  me, 
everybody  of  all  ages  knocked  me  about  and  starved  me.  They 
were  right ;  they  had  no  business  to  do  anything  else.  I  was 
a  nuisance,  an  incumbrance,  and  a  pest.  I  know  that  very 
well." 

His  pride  in  having  at  any  time  of  his  life  achieved  such  a 
great,  social  distinction  as  to  be  a  nuisance,  an  incumbrance, 
and  a  pest,  was  only  to  be  satisfied  by  three  sonorous  repe- 
titions of  the  boast. 

"I  was  to  pull  through  it  I  suppose,  Mrs.  Gradgrind. 
Whether  I  was  to  do  it  or  not,  ma'am,  I  did  it.  I  pulled 
through  it,  though  nobody  threw  me  out  a  rope.  Vagabond, 
errand  boy,  vagabond,  laborer,  porter,  clerk,  chief  manager, 
small  partner,  Josiah  Bounderby  of  Coketown.  Those  are  the 
antecedents,  and  the  culmination.  Josiah  Bounderby  of  Coke- 


THE  GRADGRIND   SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION  319 

town  learnt  his  letters  from  the  outsides  of  the  shops,  Mrs. 
Gradgrind,  and  was  first  able  to  tell  the  time  upon  a  dial- 
plate,  from  studying  the  steeple  clock  of  St.  Giles's  Church, 
London,  under  the  direction  of  a  drunken  cripple,  who  was  a 
convicted  thief,  and  an  incorrigible*  vagrant..  Tell  Josiah 
Bounderby  of  Coketown,  of  your  district  schools  and  your 
model  schools,  and  your  training  schools,  and  your  whole 
kettle-of-fish  of  schools  ;  and  Josiah  Bounderby  of  Coketown 
tells  you  plainly,  all  right,  all  correct  —  he  hadn't  such  advan- 
tages —  but  let  us  have  hard-headed,  solid-fisted  people  —  the 
education  that  made  him  won't  do  for  everybody,  he  knows 
well  —  such  and  such  his  education  was,  however,  and  you 
may  force  him  to  swallow  boiling  fat,  but  you  shall  never 
force  him  to  suppress  the  facts  of  his  life." 

Being  heated  when  he  arrived  at  this  climax,  Josiah  Boun- 
derby of  Coketown  stopped.  He  stopped  just  as  his  eminently 
practical  friend,  still  accompanied  by  the  two  young  culprits, 
entered  the  room.  His  eminently  practical  friend,  on  seeing 
him,  stopped  also,  and  gave  Louisa  a  reproachful  look  that 
plainly  said,  "Behold  your  Bounderby  !  " 

"Well!"  blustered  Mr.  Bounderby,  "what's  the  matter? 
What  is  young  Thomas  in  the  dumps  about  ?  " 

He  spoke  of  young  Thomas,  but  he  looked  at  Louisa. 

* '  We  were  peeping  at  the  circus, ' '  muttered  Louisa, 
haughtily,  without  lifting  up  her  eyes,  "  and  Father  caught  us." 

"  And  Mrs.  Gradgrind,"  said  her  husband  in  ii  lofty  manner, 
4 '  I  should  as  soon  have  expected  to  find  my  children  reading 
poetry. ' ' 

"  Dear  me,"  whimpered  Mrs.  Gradgrind.  "  How  can  you, 
Louisa  and  Thomas  !  I  wonder  at  you.  I  declare  you're 
enough  to  make  one  regret  ever  having  had  a  family  at  all.  I 
have  a  great  mind  to  say  I  wish  I  hadn't.  Then  what  would 
you  have  done,  I  should  like  to  know. ' ' 

Mr.  Gradgrind  did  not  seem  favorably  impressed  by  these 
cogent  remarks.  He  frowned  impatiently. 

"As  if,  with  my  head  in  its  present  throbbing  state,  you 


320  CHARLES  DICKENS 

couldn't  go  and  look  at  the  shells  and  minerals  and  things  pro- 
vided for  you,  instead  of  circuses  !  "  said  Mrs.  Gradgrind. 
"You  know  as  well  as  I  do,  no  young  people  have  circus 
masters,  or  keep  circuses  in  cabinets,  or  attend  lectures  about 
circuses.  What  can  you  possibly  want  to  know  of  circuses, 
then  ?  I  am  sure  you  have  enough  to  do,  if  that's  what  you 
want.  With  my  head  in  its  present  state,  I  couldn't  remember 
the  mere  names  of  half  the  facts  you  have  got  to  attend  to." 

"  That's  the  reason  !  "  pouted  Louisa. 

"Don't  tell  me  that's  the  reason,  because  it  can  be  nothing 
of  the  sort, ' '  said  Mrs.  Gradgrind.  ' '  Go  and  be  something 
ological,  directly."  Mrs.  Gradgrind  was  not  a  scientific  char- 
acter, and  usually  dismissed  her  children  to  their  studies  with 
this  general  injunction  to  choose  their  pursuit. 

In  truth,  Mrs.  Gradgrind's  stock  of  facts  in  general  was 
woefully  defective  ;  but  Mr.  Gradgrind,  in  raising  her  to  her 
high  matrimonial  position,  had  been  influenced  by  two  reasons. 
Firstly,  she  was  most  satisfactory  as  a  question  of  figures  ; 
and,  secondly,  she  had  ' '  no  nonsense  "  about  her.  By  nonsense 
he  meant  fancy  ;  and  truly  it  is  probable  she  was  as  free  from 
any  alloy  of  that  nature  as  any  human  being  not  arrived  at 
the  perfection  of  an  absolute  idiot  ever  was. 

The  simple  circumstance  of  being  left  alone  with  her  husband 
and  Mr.  Bounderby,  was  sufficient  to  stun  this  admirable  lady 
again,  without  collision  between  herself  and  any  other  fact.  So, 
she  once  more  died  away,  and  nobody  minded  her. 

"Bounderby,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  drawing  a  chair  to  the 
fireside,  ' '  you  are  always  so  interested  in  my  young  people  — 
particularly  in  Louisa  —  that  I  make  no  apology  for  saying  to 
you,  I  am  very  much  vexed  by  this  discovery.  I  have  syste- 
matically devoted  myself  (as  you  know)  to  the  education  of 
the  reason  of  my  family.  The  reason  is  (as  you  know)  the 
only  faculty  to  which  education  should  be  addressed.  And 
yet,  Bounderby,  it  would  appear  from  this  unexpected  circum- 
stance of  to-day,  though  in  itself  a  trifling  one,  as  if  something 
had  crept  into  Thomas's  and  Louisa's  minds  which  is  —  or 


THE  GRADGRIND   SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION  321 

rather,  which  is  not  —  I  don't  know  that  I  can  express  myself 
better  than  by  saying  —  which  has  never  been  intended  to  be 
developed,  and  in  which  their  reason  has  no  part." 

' '  There  certainly  is  no  reason  in  looking  with  interest  at  a 
parcel  of  vagabonds, ' '  returned  Bounderby .  ' '  When  I  was  a 
vagabond  myself,  nobody  looked  with  any  interest  at  me;  I 
know  that." 

' '  Then  comes  the  question, ' '  said  the  eminently  practical 
father,  with  his  eyes  on  the  tire,  "in  what  has  this  vulgar 
curiosity  its  rise  ? ' ' 

"  I'll  tell  you  in  what.     In  idle  imagination." 

' '  I  hope  not, ' '  said  the  eminently  practical ;  "I  confess, 
however,  that  the  misgiving  has  crossed  me  on  my  way  home. ' ' 

"In  idle  imagination,  Gradgrind,"  repeated  Bounderby. 
' '  A  very  bad  thing  for  anybody,  but  a  cursed  bad  thing  for  a 
girl  like  Louisa.  I  should  ask  Mrs.  Gradgrind's  pardon  for 
strong  expressions,  but  that  she  knows  very  well  I  am  not  a 
refined  character.  Whoever  expects  refinement  in  me  will  be 
disappointed.  I  hadn't  a  refined  bringing  up." 

' '  Whether, ' '  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  pondering  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  and  his  cavernous  eyes  on  the  fire,  ' '  whether 
any  instructor  or  servant  can  have  .  suggested  anything  ? 
Whether  Louisa  or  Thomas  can  have  been  reading  anything  ? 
Whether,  in  spite  of  all  precautions,  any  idle  story  book  can 
have  got  into  the  house?  Because,  in  minds  that  have  been 
practically  formed  by  rule  and  line,  from  the  cradle  upwards, 
this  is  so  curious,  so  incomprehensible." 

"  Stop  a  bit !  "  cried  Bounderby,  who  all  this  time  had  been 
standing,  as  before,  on  the  hearth,  bursting  at  the  very  furni- 
ture of  the  room  with  explosive  humility.  ' '  You  have  one  of 
those  stroller's  children  in  the  school." 

' '  Cecilia  Jupe,  by  name, ' '  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  with  some- 
thing of  a  stricken  look  at  his  friend. 

"Now,  stop  a  bit!"  cried  Bounderby  again.  "How  did 
she  come  there?" 

"Why,  the  fact  is,  I  saw  the  girl  myself,  for  the  first  time, 

SCH.  IN  COM. —  21 


322  CHARLES    DICKENS 

only  just  now.  She  specially  applied  here  at  the  house  to  be 
admitted,  as  not  regularly  belonging  to  our  town,  and  —  yes, 
you  are  right,  Bounderby,  you  are  right. ' ' 

"  Now,  stop  a  bit !  "  cried  Bounderby,  once  more.  "  Louisa 
saw  her  when  she  came  ?  ' ' 

"Louisa  certainly  did  see  her,  for  she  mentioned  the  appli- 
cation to  me.  But  Louisa  saw  her,  I  have  no  doubt,  in  Mrs. 
Gradgrind's  presence." 

"  Pray,  Mrs.  Gradgrind,"  said  Bounderby,  "  what  passed  ?  " 

"Oh,  my  poor  health!  "  returned  Mrs.  Gradgrind.  "  The 
girl  wanted  to  come  to  the  school,  and  Mr.  Gradgrind  wanted 
girls  to  come  to  the  school,  and  Louisa  and  Thomas  both  said 
that  the  girl  wanted  to  come,  and  that  Mr.  Gradgrind  wanted 
girls  to  come,  and  how  was  it  possible  to  contradict  them  when 
such  was  the  fact!  " 

"Now  I  tell  you  what,  Gradgrind!"  said  Mr.  Bounderby. 
"Turn  this  girl  to  the  right  about,  and  there's  an  end  of  it." 

"  I  am  much  of  your  opinion." 

"Do  it  at  once,"  said  Bounderby,  "has  always  been  my 
motto  from  a  child.  When  I  thought  I  would  run  away  from 
my  egg  box  and  my  grandmother,  I  did  it  at  once.  Do  you 
the  same.  Do  this  at  once  !  " 

"Are  you  walking?"  asked  his  friend.  "I  have  the 
father's  address.  Perhaps  you  would  not  mind  walking  to 
town  with  me  !  " 

"Not  the  least  in  the  world,"  said  Mr.  Bounderby,  "as 
long  as  you  do  it  at  once !  ' ' 

So,  Mr.  Bounderby  threw  on  his  hat  —  he  always  threw  it 
on,  as  expressing  a  man  who  had  been  far  too  busily  employed 
in  making  himself,  to  acquire  any  fashion  of  wearing  his  hat  — 
and  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  sauntered  out  into  the  hall. 
"  I  never  wear  gloves,"  it  was  his  custom  to  say.  "I  didn't 
climb  up  the  ladder  in  them.  Shouldn't  be  so  high  up,  if  I 
had." 

Being  left  to  saunter  in  the  hall  a  minute  or  two  while  Mr. 
Gradgrind  went  upstairs  for  the  address,  he  opened  the  door 


THE    GRADGR1XD    SYSTEM    OF    EDUCATION  323 

of  the  children's  study  and  looked  into  that  serene  floor-clothed 
apartment,  which,  notwithstanding  its  bookcases  and  its  cabi- 
nets and  its  variety  of  learned  and  philosophical  appliances, 
had  much  of  the  genial  aspect  of  a  room  devoted  to  hair  cut- 
ting. Louisa  languidly  leaned  upon  the  window  looking  out, 
without  looking  at  anything,  while  }roung  Thomas  stood  snif- 
fing revengefully  at  the  fire.  Adam  Smith  and  Malthus,  two 
younger  Gradgrinds,  were  out  at  lecture  in  custody ;  and  little 
Jane,  after  manufacturing  a  good  deal  of  moist  pipe  clay  on  her 
face  with  slate  pencil  and  tears,  had  fallen  asleep  over  vulgar 
fractions. 

"  It's  all  right  now,  Louisa;  it's  all  right,  young  Thomas," 
said  Mr.  Bounderby,  "you  won't  do  so  any  more.  I'll 
answer  for  its  being  all  over  with  Father.  Well,  Louisa, 
that's  worth  a  kiss,  isn't  it?  " 

"  You  cart  take  one,  Mr.  Bounderby,"  returned  Louisa, 
when  she  had  coldly  paused,  and  slowly  walked  across  the 
room,  and  ungraciously  raised  her  cheek  towards  him,  with 
her  face  turned  away. 

"  Always  my  pet ;  ain't  you,  Louisa  ?  "  said  Mr.  Bounderby. 
"  Good-by,  Louisa !  " 

He  went  his  way,  but  she  stood  on  the  same  spot,  rubbing 
the  cheek  he  had  kissed,  with  her  handkerchief,  until  it  was 
burning  red.  She  was  still  doing  this,  five  minutes  after- 
wards. 

' '  What  are  you  about,  Loo  ?  ' '  her  brother  sulkily  remon- 
strated. "  You'll  rub  a  hole  in  your  face." 

"  You  may  cut  the  piece  out  with  your  penknife  if  you  like, 
Tom.  I  wouldn't  cry  !" 

V.   THE  KEYNOTE 

Coketown,  to  which  Messrs.  Bounderby  and  Gradgrind 
now  walked,  was  a  triumph  of  fact ;  it  had  no  greater  taint  of 
fancy  in  it  than  Mrs.  Gradgrind  herself.  Let  us  strike  the 
keynote,  Coketown,  before  pursuing  our  tune. 


324  CHARLES    DICKENS 

It  was  a  town  of  red  brick,  or  of  brick  that  would  have  been 
red  if  the  smoke  and  ashes  had  allowed  it ;  but  as  matters  stood 
it  was  a  town  of  unnatural  red  and  black  like  the  painted  face 
of  a  savage.  It  was  a  town  of  machinery  and  tall  chimneys,  out 
of  which  interminable  serpents  of  smoke  trailed  themselves  for 
ever  and  ever,  and  never  got  uncoiled.  It  had  a  black  canal 
in  it,  and  a  river  that  ran  purple  with  ill-smelling  dye,  and 
vast  piles  of  building  full  of  windows  where  there  was  a  rat- 
tling and  a  trembling  all  da}^  long,  and  where  the  piston  of  the 
steam  engine  worked  monotonously  up  and  down,  like  the  head 
of  an  elephant  in  a  state  of  melancholy  madness.  It  contained 
several  large  streets  all  very  like  one  another,  and  many 
small  streets  still  more  like  one  another,  inhabited  by  people 
equally  like  one  other,  who  all  went  in  and  out  at  the  same 
hours,  with  the  same  sound  upon  the  same  pavements,  to  do 
the  same  work,  and  to  whom  every  day  was  the  same  as  yes- 
terday and  to-morrow,  and  every  year  the  counterpart  of  the 
last  and  the  next. 

These  attributes  of  Coketown  were  in  the  main  inseparable 
from  the  work  by  which  it  was  sustained  ;  against  them  were 
to  be  set  off  comforts  of  life  which  found  their  way  all  over 
the  world  and  elegancies  of  life  which  made,  we  will  not  ask 
how  much  of  the  fine  lady,  who  could  scarcely  bear  to  hear  the 
place  mentioned.  The  rest  of  its  features  were  voluntary,  and 
they  were  these. 

You  saw  nothing  in  Coketown  but  what  was  severely  work- 
ful.  If  the  members  of  a  religious  persuasion  built  a  chapel 
there  —  as  the  members  of  eighteen  religious  persuasions  had 
done  —  they  made  it  a  pious  warehouse  of  red  brick,  with  some- 
times (but  this  is  only  in  highly  ornamented  examples)  a  bell  in 
a  birdcage  on  the  top  of  it.  The  solitary  exception  was  the 
New  Church ;  a  stuccoed  edifice  with  a  square  steeple  over  the 
door,  terminating  in  four  short  pinnacles  like  florid  wooden 
legs.  All  the  public  inscriptions  in  the  town  were  painted 
alike,  in  severe  characters  of  black  and  white.  The  jail  might 
have  been  the  infirmary,  the  infirmary  might  have  been  the 


TBE   GBADGBIND    SYSTEM   OF  EDUCATION          325 

jail,  the  townhall  might  have  been  either,  or  both,  or  anything 
else,  for  anything  that  appeared  to  the  contrary  in  the  graces  of 
their  construction.  Fact,  fact,  fact,  everywhere  in  the  mate- 
rial aspect  of  the  town;  fact,  fact,  fact,  everywhere  in  the 
immaterial.  The  M'Choakumchild  school  was  all  fact,  and 
the  school  of  design  was  all  fact,  and  the  relations  between 
master  and  man  were  all  fact,  and  everything  was  fact  between 
the  lying-in  hospital  and  the  cemetery,  and  what  you  couldn't 
state  in  figures,  or  show  to  be  purchasable  in  the  cheapest 
market  and  salable  in  the  dearest,  was  not,  and  never  should 
be,  world  without  end,  Amen. 

A  town  so  sacred  to  fact,  and  so  triumphant  in  its  assertion,  of 
course  got  on  well  ?  Why  no,  not  quite  well.  No  ?  Dear  me  ! 

No.  Coketowu  did  not  come  out  of  its  own  furnaces,  in  all 
respects  like  gold  that  had  stood  the  fire.  First,  the  perplex- 
ing mystery  of  the  place  was,  Who  belonged  to  the  eighteen 
denominations?  Because,  whoever  did,  the  laboring  people 
did  not.  It  was  very  strange  to  walk  through  the  streets  on 
a  Sunday  morning,  and  note  how  few  of  them  the  barbarous 
jangling  of  bells,  that  was  driving  the  sick  and  nervous  mad, 
called  away  from  their  own  quarter,  from  their  own  close 
rooms,  from  the  corners  of  their  own  streets,  where  they 
lounged  listlessly,  gazing  at  all  the  church  and  chapel  going, 
as  at  a  thing  with  which  they  had  no  manner  of  concern.  Nor 
was  it  merely  the  stranger  who  noticed  this,  because  there  was 
a  native  organization  in  Coketown  itself,  whose  members  were 
to  be  heard  of  in  the  House  of  Commons  every  session,  indig- 
nantly petitioning  for  acts  of  parliament  that  should  make 
these  people  religious  by  main  force.  Then  came  the  Teetotal 
Society,  who  complained  that  these  same  people  would  get 
drunk,  and  showed  in  tabular  statements  that  they  did  get 
drunk,  and  proved  at  tea  parties  that  no  inducement,  human 
or  divine  (except  a  medal),  would  induce  them  to  forego  their 
custom  of  getting  drunk.  Then  came  the  chemist  and  drug- 
gist, with  other  tabular  statements,  showing  that  when  they 
didn't  get  drunk,  they  took  opium.  Then  came  the  experi- 


326  CHARLES    DICKENS 

enced  chaplain  of  the  jail,  with  more  tabular  statements,  out- 
doing all  the  previous  tabular  statements,  and  showing  that 
the  same  people  would  resort  to  low  haunts,  hidden  from  the 
public  eye,  where  they  heard  low  singing  and  saw  low  dancing, 
and  mayhap  joined  in  it;  and  where  A.  B.,  aged  twenty-four 
next  birthday,  and  committed  for  eighteen  months'  solitary, 
had  himself  said  (not  that  he  had  ever  shown  himself  particu- 
larly worthy  of  belief)  his  ruin  began,  as  he  was  perfectly  sure 
and  confident  that  otherwise  he  would  have  been  a  tiptop 
moral  specimen.  Then  came  Mr.  Gradgrind  and  Mr.  Bound- 
erby,  the  two  gentlemen  at  this  present  moment  walking  through 
Coketown,  and  both  eminently  practical,  who  could,  on  occa- 
sion, furnish  more  tabular  statements  derived  from  their  own 
personal  experience,  and  illustrated  by  cases  they  had  known 
and  seen,  from  which  it  clearly  appeared  —  in  short,  it  was  the 
only  clear  thing  in  the  case  —  that  these  same  people  were  a  bad 
lot  altogether,  gentlemen  ;  that  do  what  you  would  for  them 
they  were  never  thankful  for  it,  gentlemen ;  that  they  were 
restless,  gentlemen.;  that  they  never  knew  what  they  wanted  ; 
that  they  lived  upon  the  best,  and  bought  fresh  butter ;  and 
insisted  on  Mocha  coffee,  and  rejected  all  but  prime  parts  of 
meat,  and  yet  were  eternally  dissatisfied  and  unmanageable. 
In  short,  it  was  the  moral  of  the  old  nursery  fable  : 

There  lived  an  old  woman,  and  what  do  you  think? 
She  lived  upon  nothing  but  victuals  and  drink; 
Victuals  and  drink  were  the  whole  of  her  diet, 
And  yet  this  old  woman  would  NEVER  be  quiet. 

Is  it  possible,  I  wonder,  that  there  was  any  analogy  between 
the  case  of  the  Coketown  population  and  the  case  of  the  little 
Gradgrinds?  Surely  none  of  us  in  our  sober  senses  and  ac- 
quainted with  figures,  are  to  be  told  at  this  time  of  day,  that 
one  of  the  foremost  elements  in  the  existence  of  the  Coketown 
working  people  had  been  for  scores  of  years  deliberately  set  at 
naught ;  that  there  was  any  Fancy  in  them  demanding  to  be 
brought  into  healthy  existence  instead  of  struggling  on  in  con- 


THE    GRADGRIND    SYSTEM    OF    EDUCATION  327 

vulsions ;  that  exactly  in  the  ratio  as  they  worked  long  and 
monotonously,  the  cravings  grew  within  them  for  some  physical 
relief  —  some  relaxation,  encouraging  good  humor  and  good 
spirits,  and  giving  them  a  vent  —  some  recognized  holiday, 
though  it  were  but  for  an  honest  dance  to  a  stirring  band  of 
music  —  some  occasional  light  pie  in  which  even  M'Choakum- 
child  had  no  finger  —  which  craving  must  and  would  be  satis- 
fied aright,  or  must  and  would  inevitably  go  wrong,  until  the 
laws  of  the  Creation  were  repealed? 

"  This  man  lives  at  Pod's  End,  and  I  don't  quite  know  Pod's 
End,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind.  "  Which  is  it,  Bounderby  ?  " 

Mr. "  Bounderby  knew  it  was  somewhere  down  town,  but 
knew  no  more  respecting  it.  So  they  stopped  for  a  moment, 
looking  about. 

Almost  as  they  did  so,  there  came  running  round  the  corner 
of  the  street  at  a  quick  pace  and  with  a  frightened  look,  a  girl 
whom  Mr.  Gradgrind  recognized.  "Halloa!"  said  he. 
"  Stop  !  Where  are  you  going  ?  Stop  !  "  Girl  Number 
Twenty  stopped  then,  palpitating,  and  made  him  a  courtesy. 

"  Why  are  you  tearing  about  the  streets,"  said  Mr.  Grad- 
grind, "  in  this  improper  manner  ?  " 

"  I  was  —  I  was  run  after,  Sir,"  the  girl  panted,  "  and  I 
wanted  to  get  away." 

"  Run  after?  "  repeated  Mr.  Gradgrind.  "  Who  would  run 
after  you  ? ' ' 

The  question  was  unexpectedly  and  suddenly  answered  for 
her,  by  the  colorless  boy,  Bitzer,  who  came  round  the  corner 
with  such  blind  speed  and  so  little  anticipating  a  stoppage  on 
the  pavement,  that  he  brought  himself  up  against  Mr.  Grad- 
grind's  waistcoat  and  rebounded  into  the  road. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  boy  ?  "  said  Mr.  Gradgrind.  "  What 
are  you  doing  ?  How  dare  you  dash  against  —  everybody  —  in 
this  manner?  " 

Bitzer  picked  up  his  cap,  which  the  concussion  had  knocked 
off ;  and  backing,  and  knuckling  his  forehead,  pleaded  that  it 
was  an  accident. 


328 

"  Was  this  boy  running  after  you^  Jupe  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Grad-1 
grind. 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  said  the  girl  reluctantly. 

"  No,  I  wasn't,  Sir  ! "  cried  Bitzer.  "  Not  till  she  run  away 
from  me.  But  the  horse  riders  never  mind  what  they  say,  Sir ; 
they're  famous  for  it.  You  know  the  horse  riders  are  famous 
for  never  minding  what  they  say,"  addressing  Sissy.  "  It's  as 
well  known  in  the  towns  as  —  please,  Sir,  as  the  multiplica- 
tion table  isn't  known  to  the  horse  riders."  Bitzer  tried  Mr. 
Bounderby  with  this. 

"He  frightened  me  so,"  said  the  girl,  "with  his  cruel 
faces  ! " 

"Oh!"  cried  Bitzer.  "Oh!  An't  you  one  of  the  rest! 
An't  you  a  horse  rider !  I  never  looked  at  her,  Sir.  I  asked 
her  if  she  would  know  how  to  define  a  horse  to-morrow,  and 
offered  to  tell  her  again,  and  she  ran  away,  and  I  ran  after  her, 
Sir,  that  she  might  know  how  to  answer  when  she  was  asked. 
You  wouldn't  have  thought  of  saying  such  mischief  if  you 
hadn't  been  a  horse  rider  ?  " 

"Her  calling  seems  to  be  pretty  well  known  among  'em," 
observed  Mr.  Bounderby.  "  You'd  have  had  the  whole  school 
peeping  in  a  row,  in  a  week." 

"Truly,  I  think  so,"  returned  his  friend.  "Bitzer,  turn 
you  about  and  take  yourself  home.  Jupe,  stay  here  a  moment. 
Let  me  hear  of  your  running  in  this  manner  any  more,  boy,  and 
you  will  hear  of  me  through  the  master  of  the  school.  You 
understand  what  I  mean.  Go  along." 

The  boy  stopped  in  his  rapid  blinking,  knuckled  his  forehead 
again,  glanced  at  Sissy,  turned  about,  and  retreated. 

"  Now,  girl,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  "  take  this  gentleman  and 
me  to  your  father's ;  we  are  going  there.  What  have  you  got 
in  that  bottle  you  are  carrying  ?  " 

"  Gin,"  said  Mr.  Bounderby. 

"Dear,  no,  Sir  !     It's  the  nine  oils." 

"The  what?"  cried  Mr.  Bounderby. 

"The  nine  oils,  Sir.     To  rub  Father  with."     Then,  said  Mr. 


THE  GRADGB1ND  SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION  320 

Bounderby,  with  a  loud,  short  laugh,  "What  the  D — 1  do 
you  rub  your  father  with  nine  oils  for  ?  ' ' 

"It's  what  our  people  always  use,  Sir,  when  they  get  any 
hurts  in  the  ring,"  replied  the  girl,  looking  over  her  shoulder, 
to  assure  herself  that  her  pursuer  was  gone.  "  They  bruise 
themselves  very  bad  sometimes." 

"  Serve  'em  right,"  said  Mr.  Bounderby,  "  for  being  idle." 
She  glanced  up  at  his  face,  with  mingled  astonishment  and 
dread. 

"  By  George  !  "  said  Mr.  Bounderby.  "  When  I  was  four  or 
five  years  younger  than  you,  I  had  worse  bruises  upon  me  than 
ten  oils,  twenty  oils,  forty  oils  would  have  rubbed  off.  I  didn't 
get  'em  by  posture  making,  but  by  being  banged  about.  There 
was  no  ropedancing  for  me  ;  I  danced  on  the  bare  ground  and 
was  larruped  with  the  rope. ' ' 

Mr.  Gradgrind,  though  hard  enough,  was  by  no  means  so 
rough  a  man  as  Mr.  Bounderby.  His  character  was  not  un- 
kind, all  things  considered  ;  it  might  have  been  a  very  kind 
one  indeed,  if  he  had  only  made  some  round  mistake  in  the 
arithmetic  that  balanced  it,  years  ago.  He  said,  in  what  he 
meant  for  a  reassuring  tone,  as  they  turned  down  a  narrow 
road,  "And  this  is  Pod's  End  ;  is  it,  Jupe  ?  " 

"This  is  it,  Sir,  and  —  if  you  wouldn't  mind,  Sir  —  this  is 
the  house." 

She  stopped,  at  twilight,  at  the  door  of  a  mean  little  public 
house,  with  dim  red  lights  in  it  —  as  haggard  and  as  shabby, 
as  if,  for  want  of  custom,  it  had  itself  taken  to  drinking,  and 
had  gone  the  way  all  drunkards  go,  and  was  very  near  the  end 
of  it. 

"It's  only  crossing  the  bar,  Sir,  and  up  the  stairs,  if  you 
wouldn't  mind,  and  waiting  there  for  a  moment  till  I  get  a 
candle.  If  you  should  hear  a  dog,  Sir,  it's  only  Merrylegs,  and 
he  only  barks." 

"  Merrylegs  and  nine  oils,  eh  ! "  said  Mr.  Bounderby,  enter- 
ing last  with  his  metallic  laugh.  "  Pretty  well  this,  for  a  self- 
made  man ! " 


330  CHARLES  DICKENS 


VI.     SLEARY'S  HORSEMANSHIP 

The  name  of  the  public  house  was  the  Pegasus's  Arms.  The 
Pegasus 's  legs  might  have  been  more  to  the  purpose  ;  but, 
underneath  the  winged  horse  upon  the  signboard,  "The  Peg- 
asus's Arms"  was  inscribed  in  Roman  letters.  Beneath  that 
inscription  again,  in  a  flowing  scroll,  the  painter  had  touched 
off  the  lines  : 

Good  malt  makes  good  beer, 

Walk  in,  and  they'll  draw  it  here : 

Good  wine  makes  good  brandy, 

Give  us  a  call,  and  you'll  find  it  handy. 

Framed  and  glazed  upon  the  wall  behind  the  dingy  little 
bar,  was  another  Pegasus  —  a  theatrical  one  —  with  real  gauze 
let  in  for  his  wings,  golden  stars  stuck  on  all  over  him,  and  his 
ethereal  harness  made  of  red  silk. 

As  it  had  grown  too  dusky  without  to  see  the  sign,  and  as 
it  had  not  grown  light  enough  within  to  see  the  picture,  Mr. 
Gradgrind  and  Mr.  Bounderby  received  no  offense  from  these 
idealities.  They  followed  the  girl  up  some  steep  corner  stairs 
without  meeting  any  one,  and  stopped  in  the  dark  while  she 
went  on  for  a  candle.  They  expected  every  moment  to  hear 
Merrylegs  give  tongue,  but  the  highly  trained  performing 
dog  had  not  barked  when  the  girl  and  the  candle  appeared 
together. 

"  Father  is  not  in  our  room,  Sir,"  she  said,  with  a  face  of 
great  surprise.  "If  you  wouldn't  mind  walking  in,  I'll  find 
him  directly." 

They  walked  in  ;  and  Sissy,  having  set  two  chairs  for  them, 
sped  away  with  a  quick  light  step.  It  was  a  mean,  shabbily- 
furnished  room,  with  a  bed  in  it.  The  white  nightcap,  embel- 
lished with  two  peacock's  feathers  and  a  pigtail  bolt  upright, 
in  which  Signer  Jupe  had  that  very  afternoon  enlivened  the 
varied  performances  with  his  chaste  Shakspearean  quips  and 
retorts,  hung  upon  a  nail  ;  but  no  other  portion  of  his  ward- 


THE  GRADGRIND   SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION  331 

robe,  or  other  token  of  himself  or  his  pursuits,  was  to  be  seen 
anywhere.  As  to  Merrylegs,  that  respectable  ancestor  of  the 
highly  trained  animal  who  went  aboard  the  Ark  might  have 
been  accidentally  shut  out  of  it,  for  any  sign  of  a  dog  that  was 
manifest  to  eye  or  ear  in  the  Pegasus's  Arms. 

They  heard  the  doors  of  rooms  above,  opening  and  shutting 
as  Sissy  went  from  one  to  another  in  quest  of  her  father  ;  and 
presently  they  heard  voices  expressing  surprise.  She  came 
bounding  down  again  in  a  great  hurry,  opened  a  battered  and 
mangy  old  hair  trunk,  found  it  empty,  and  looked  round  with 
her  hands  clasped  and  her  face  full  of  terror. 

"Father  must  have  gone  down  to  the  Booth,  sir.  I  don't 
know  why  he  should  go  there,  but  he  must  be  there  ;  I'll  bring 
him  in  a  minute  !  "  She  was  gone  directly,  without  her  bon- 
net ;  with  her  long,  dark,  childish  hair  streaming  behind 
her. 

"What  does  she  mean?"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind.  "Back  in 
a  minute  ?  It's  more  than  a  mile  off." 

Before  Mr.  Bounderby  could  reply,  a  young  man  appeared 
at  the  door,  and  introducing  himself  with  the  words,  ' '  By  your 
leaves,  gentlemen  !  "  walked  in  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 
His  face,  close-shaven,  thin,  and  sallow,  was  shaded  by  a  great 
quantity  of  dark  hair,  brushed  into  a  roll  all  round  his  head, 
and  parted  up  the  center.  His  legs  were  very  robust,  but 
shorter  than  legs  of  good  proportions  should  have  been.  His 
chest  and  back  were  as  much  too  broad,  as  his  legs  were  too 
short.  He  was  dressed  in  a  Newmarket  coat  and  tight-fitting 
trousers  ;  wore  a  shawl  round  his  neck  ;  smelt  of  lamp  oil, 
straw,  orange  peel,  horses'  provender,  and  sawdust  ;  and 
looked  a  most  remarkable  sort  of  Centaur,  compounded  of  the 
stable  and  the  playhouse.  Where  the  one  began,  and  the  other 
ended,  nobody  could  have  told  with  any  precision.  This  gen- 
tleman was  mentioned  in  the  bills  of  the  day  as  Mr.  E.  W.  B. 
Childers,  so  justly  celebrated  for  his  daring  vaulting  act  as  the 
Wild  Huntsman  of  the  North  American  Prairies  ;  in  which  pop- 
ular performance,  a  diminutive  boy  with  an  old  face,  who  now 


332  CHARLES  DICKENS 

accompanied  him,  assisted  as  his  infant  son  —  being  carried 
upside  down  over  his  father's  shoulder,  by  one  foot,  and  held 
by  the  crown  of  his  head,  heels  upwards,  in  the  palm  of  his 
father's  hand,  according  to  the  violent  paternal  manner  in 
which  wild  huntsmen  may  be  observed  to  fondle  their  off- 
spring. Made  up  with  curls,  wreaths,  wings,  white  bismuth, 
and  carmine,  this  hopeful  young  person  soared  into  so  pleasing 
a  Cupid  as  to  constitute  the  chief  delight  of  the  maternal  part 
of  the  spectators  ;  but  in  private,  where  his  characteristics  were 
a  precocious  cutaway  coat  and  an  extremely  gruff  voice,  he 
became  of  the  turf,  turfy. 

"By  your  leaves,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  E.  W.  B.  Childers, 
glancing  round  the  room.  "  It  was  you,  I  believe,  that  were 
wishing  to  see  Jupe  ? ' ' 

"It  was,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind.  "His  daughter  has  gone  to 
fetch  him,  but  I  can't  wait ;  therefore,  if  you  please,  I  will 
leave  a  message  for  him  with  you." 

"  You  see,  my  friend,"  Mr.  Bounderby  put  in,  "  we  are  the 
kind  of  people  who  know  the  value  of  time,  and  you  are  the 
kind  of  people  who  don't  know  the  value  of  time." 

"I  have  not,"  retorted  Mr.  Childers,  after  surveying  him 
from  head  to  foot,  "the  honor  of  knowing  you,  — but  if  you 
mean  that  you  can  make  more  money  of  your  time  than  I  can 
of  mine,  I  should  judge  from  your  appearance  that  you  are 
about  right." 

' '  And  when  you  have  made  it,  you  can  keep  it  too,  I  should 
think,"  said  Cupid. 

' '  Kidderminster,  stow  that !  "  said  Mr.  Childers.  (Master 
Kidderminster  was  Cupid's  mortal  name.) 

"What  does  he  come  here  cheeking  us  for,  then?"  cried 
Master  Kidderminster,  showing  a  very  irascible  temperament. 
"  If  you  want  to  cheek  us,  pay  your  ocher  at  the  doors  and 
take  it  out." 

"  Kidderminster,"  said  Mr.  Childers,  raising  his  voice, 
"stow  that!  Sir,"  to  Mr.  Gradgrind,  "I  was  addressing 
myself  to  you.  You  may  or  you  may  not  be  aware  (for  per- 


THE  GEADGEIND   SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION  333 

haps  you  have  not  been  much  in  the  audience),  that  Jupe  has 
missed  his  tip  very  often,  lately." 

"Has—  What  has  he  missed?"  asked  Mr.  Gradgrind, 
glancing  at  the  potent  Bounderby  for  assistance. 

"Missed  his  tip." 

"Offered  at  the  Garters  four  times  last  night,  and  never 
done  'em  once,"  said  Master  Kidderminster.  "  Missed  his  tip 
at  the  banners,  too,  and  was  loose  in  his  ponging. ' ' 

"Didn't  do  what  he  ought  to  do.  Was  short  in  his  leaps 
and  bad  in  his  tumbling,"  Mr.  Childers  interpreted. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  "that  is  tip,  is  it  ?  " 

"In  a  general  way  that's  missing  his  tip,"  Mr.  E.  W.  B. 
Childers  answered. 

"Nine  oils,  Merrylegs,  missing  tips,  garters,  banners,  and 
ponging,  eh !  "  ejaculated  Bounderby,  with  his  laugh  of 
laughs.  "Queer  sort  of  company,  too,  for  a  man  who  has 
raised  himself. ' ' 

"Lower  yourself,  then,"  retorted  Cupid.  "Oh  Lord!  if 
you've  raised  yourself  so  high  as  all  that  comes  to,  let  your- 
self down  a  bit. ' ' 

"  This  is  a  very  obtrusive  lad  !  "  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  turn- 
ing, and  knitting  his  brows  on  him. 

"  We'd  have  had  a  young  gentleman  to  meet  you,  if  we  had 
known  you  were  coming,"  retorted  Master  Kidderminster, 
nothing  abashed.  "  It's  a  pity  you  don't  have  a  bespeak,  being 
so  particular.  You're  on  the  Tight-Jeff,  ain't  you  ?  " 

"  What  does  this  unmannerly  boy  mean,"  said  Mr.  Grad- 
grind, eyeing  him  in  a  sort  of  desperation,  "by  Tight- Jeff?  " 

"  There  !  Get  out,  get  out !  "  said  Mr.  Childers,  thrusting 
his  young  friend  from  the  room,  rather  in  the  prairie  manner. 
"Tight-Jeff  or  Slack-Jeff,  it  don't  much  signify.  It's  only 
tight  rope  and  slack  rope.  You  were  going  to  give  me  a 
message  for  Jupe  ?  ' ' 

"Yes,  I  was." 

' '  Then, ' '  continued  Mr.  Childers,  quickly,  ' '  my  opinion  is, 
he  will  never  receive  it.  Do  you  know  much  of  him  ?  ' ' 


334  CHARLES  DICKENS 

"  I  never  saw  the  man  in  my  life." 

"I  doubt  if  you  ever  will  see  him  now.  It's  pretty  plain  to 
me,  he's  off." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  he  has  deserted  his  daughter  ?  " 

"Ay!  I  mean,"  said  Mr.  Childers,  with  a  nod,  "that  he 
has  cut.  He  was  goosed  last  night,  he  was  goosed  the  night 
before  last,  he  was  goosed  to-day.  He  has  lately  got  in  the 
way  of  being  always  goosed,  and  he  can't  stand  it." 

' '  Why  has  he  been  —  so  very  much  —  goosed  ?  ' '  asked  Mr. 
Gradgrind,  forcing  the  word  out  of  him,  with  great  solemnity 
and  reluctance. 

"His  joints  are  turning  stiff,  and  he  is  getting  used  up," 
said  Childers.  "  He  has  his  points  as  a  cackler  still,  but  he 
can't  get  a  living  out  of  them. ' ' 

4 '  A  cackler  ! ' '  Bounderby  repeated.    ' '  Here  we  go  again  ! ' ' 

"A  speaker,  if  the  gentleman  likes  it  better,"  said  Mr.  E. 
W.  B.  Childers,  superciliously  throwing  the  interpretation 
over  his  shoulder,  and  accompanying  it  with  a  shake  of  his 
long  hair  —  which  all  shook  at  once.  "  Now,  it's  a  remarkable 
fact,  Sir,  that  it  cut  that  man  deeper  to  know  that  his  daughter 
knew  of  his  being  goosed,  than  to  go  through  with  it. ' ' 

"Good!"  interrupted  Mr.  Bounderby.  "This  is  good, 
Gradgrind  !  A  man  so  fond  of  his  daughter,  that  he  runs 
away  from  her  !  This  is  devilish  good  !  Ha  !  ha  !  Now,  I'll 
tell  you  what,  young  man.  I  haven't  always  occupied  my 
present  station  of  life.  I  know  what  these  things  are.  You 
may  be  astonished  to  hear  it,  but  my  mother  ran  away  from 
me." 

E.  W.  B.  Childers  replied  pointedly,  that  he  was  not  at  all 
astonished  to  hear  it. 

"Very  well,"  said  Bounderby.  "I  was  born  in  a  ditch, 
and  my  mother  ran  away  from  me.  Do  I  excuse  her  for  it  ? 
No.  Have  I  ever  excused  her  for  it?  Not  I.  What  do  I  call 
her  for  it  ?  I  call  her  probably  the  very  worst  woman  that 
ever  lived  in  the  world,  except  my  drunken  grandmother. 
There's  no  family  pride  about  me,  there's  no  imaginative 


THE  GRADGBIND   SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION  335 

sentimental  humbug  about  me.  I  call  a  spade  a  spade  ;  and 
I  call  the  mother  of  Josiah  Bounderby  of  Coketown,  without 
any  fear  or  any  favor,  what  I  should  call  her  if  she  had  been 
the  mother  of  Dick  Jones  of  Wapping.  So  with  this  man. 
He  is  a  runaway  rogue  and  a  vagabond,  that's  what  he  is,  in 
English." 

"It's  all  the  same  to  me  what  he  is  or  what  he  is  not, 
whether  in  English  or  whether  in  French,"  retorted  Mr.  E. 
W.  B.  Childers,  facing  about.  "I  am  telling  your  friend 
what's  the  fact ;  if  you  don't  like  to  hear  it,  you  can  avail 
yourself  of  the  open  air.  You  give  it  mouth  enough,  you  do  ; 
but  give  it  mouth  in  your  own  building,  at  least, ' '  remonstrated 
E.  W.  B.  with  stern  irony.  "Don't  give  it  mouth  in  this 
building,  till  you're  called  upon.  You  have  got  some  building 
of  your  own,  I  dare  say,  now  ?  ' ' 

"  Perhaps  so,"  replied  Mr.  Bounderby,  rattling  his  money 
and  laughing. 

"  Then  give  it  mouth  in  your  own  building,  will  you,  if  you 
please?"  said  Childers.  "Because  this  isn't  a  strong  build- 
ing, and  too  much  of  you  might  bring  it  down  !  " 

Eyeing  Mr.  Bounderby  from  head  to  foot  again,  he  turned 
from  him,  as  from  a  man  finally  disposed  of,  to  Mr.  Grad.grind. 

' '  Jupe  sent  his  daughter  out  on  an  errand  not  an  hour  ago, 
and  then  was  seen  to  slip  out  himself,  with  his  hat  over  his 
eyes,  and  a  bundle  tied  up  in  a  handkerchief  under  his  arm. 
She  will  never  believe  it  of  him;  but  he  has  cut  away  and  left 
her. 

' '  Pray, ' '  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  ' '  why  will  she  never  believe 
it  of  him?" 

"  Because  those  two  were  one.  Because  they  were  never 
asunder.  Because,  up  to  this  time,  he  seemed  to  dote  upon 
her,"  said  Childers,  taking  a  step  or  two  to  look  into  the 
empty  trunk.  Both  Mr.  Childers  and  Master  Kidderminster 
walked  in  a  curious  manner  ;  with  their  legs  wider  apart  than 
the  general  run  of  men,  and  with  a  very  knowing  assumption 
of  being  stiff  in  the  knees.  This  walk  was  common  to  all  the 


336  CHARLES  DICKENS 

male  members  of  Sleary's  company,  and  was  understood  to 
express  that  they  were  always  on  horseback. 

4 'Poor  Sissy!  He  had  better  have  apprenticed  her,"  said 
Childers,  giving  his  hair  another  shake,  as  he  looked  up  from 
the  empty  box.  "Now  he  leaves  her  without  anything  to 
take  to." 

"It  is  creditable  to  you,  who  have  never  been  apprenticed, 
to  express  that  opinion,"  returned  Gradgrind  approvingly. 

"/  never  apprenticed?  I  was  apprenticed  when  I  was 
seven  year  old." 

"Oh!  Indeed?"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  rather  resentfully, 
as  having  been  defrauded  of  his  good  opinion.  "I  was  not 
aware  of  its  being  the  custom  to  apprentice  young  persons 
to—" 

"Idleness,"  Mr.  Bounderby  put  in  with  a  loud  laugh. 
"  No,  by  the  Lord  Harry  !  Nor  I  !  " 

"  Her  father  always  had  it  in  his  head,"  resumed  Childers, 
feigning  unconsciousness  of  Mr.  Bounderby 's  existence,  "  that 
she  was  to  be  taught  the  deuce-and-all  of  education.  How  it 
got  into  his  head,  I  can't  say  :  I  can  only  say  that  it  never  got 
out.  He  has  been  picking  up  a  bit  of  reading  for  her,  here  — 
and  a  bit  of  writing  for  her,  there  —  and  a  bit  of  ciphering  for 
her,  somewhere  else — these  seven  years." 

Mr.  E.  W.  B.  Childers  took  one  of  his  hands  out  of  his 
pockets,  stroked  his  face  and  chin,  and  looked,  with  a  good 
deal  of  doubt  and  a  little  hope,  at  Mr.  Gradgrind.  From  the 
first  he  had  sought  to  conciliate  that  gentleman,  for  the  sake 
of  the  deserted  girl. 

"When  Sissy  got  into  the  school  here,"  he  pursued,  "her 
father  was  as  pleased  as  Punch.  I  couldn't  altogether  make 
out  why,  myself,  as  we  were  not  stationary  here,  being  but 
comers  and  goers  anywhere.  I  suppose,  however,  he  had  this 
move  in  his  mind  —  he  was  always  half-cracked  —  and  then 
considered  her  provided  for.  If  you  should  happen  to  have 
looked  in  to-night,  for  the  purpose  of  telling  him  that  you 
were  going  to  do  her  any  little  service,"  said  Mr.  Childers, 


THE  GEADGBIND  SYSTEM   OF  EDUCATION  337 

stroking  his  face  again,  and  repeating  his  look,  "it  would 
be  very  fortunate  and  well-timed  ;  very  fortunate  and  well- 
timed." 

"On  the  contrary,"  returned  Mr.  Gradgrind.  "I  came  to 
tell  him  that  her  connections  made  her  not  an  object  for  the 
school,  and  that  she  must  not  attend  any  more.  Still,  if  her 
father  really  has  left  her,  without  any  connivance  on  her  part 
—  Bounderby,  let  me  have  a  word  with  you." 

Upon  this,  Mr.  Childers  politely  betook  himself,  with  his 
equestrian  walk,  to  the  landing  outside  the  door,  and  there 
stood  stroking  his  face,  and  softly  whistling.  While  thus 
engaged,  he  overheard  such  phrases  in  Mr.  Bounderby's  voice 
as  "No,  /  say  no.  I  advise  you  not.  I  say,  by  no  means." 
While,  from  Mr.  Gradgrind,  he  heard  in  his  much  lower  tone 
the  words,  "But  even  as  an  example  to  Louisa,  of  what  this 
pursuit  which  has  been  the  subject  of  a  vulgar  curiosity  leads 
to  and  ends  in.  Think  of  it,  Bounderby,  in  that  point  of 
view." 

Meanwhile,  the  various  members  of  Sleary's  company  gradu- 
ally gathered  together  from  the  upper  regions,  where  they 
were  quartered,  and,  from  standing  about,  talking  in  low 
voices  to  one  another  and  to  Mr.  Childers,  gradually  insinuated 
themselves  and  him  into  the  room.  There  were  two  or  three 
handsome  young  women  among  them,  with  their  two  or  three 
husbands,  and  their  two  or  three  mothers,  and  their  eight  or 
nine  little  children,  who  did  the  fairy  business  when  required. 
The  father  of  one  of  the  families  was  in  the  habit  of  balanc- 
ing the  father  of  another  of  the  families  on  the  top  of  a  great 
pole  ;  the  father  of  a  third  family  often  made  a  pyramid  of  both 
those  fathers,  with  Master  Kidderminster  for  the  apex,  and  him- 
self for  the  base ;  all  the  fathers  could  dance  upon  rolling  casks, 
stand  upon  bottles,  catch  knives  and  balls,  twirl  hand  basins, 
ride  upon  anything,  jump  over  everything,  and  stick  at  noth- 
ing. All  the  mothers  could  (and  did)  dance  upon  the  slack 
wire  and  the  tight  rope,  and  perform  rapid  acts  on  barebacked 
steeds  ;  none  of  them  were  at  all  particular  in  respect  of  show- 
sen.  IN  COM.  22 


338  CHARLES  DICKENS 

ing  their  legs  ;  and  one  of  them,  alone  in  a  Greek  chariot, 
drove  six  in  hand  into  every  town  they  came  to.  They  all 
assumed  to  be  mighty  rakish  and  knowing,  they  were  not  very 
tidy  in  their  private  dresses,  they  were  not  at  all  orderly  in 
their  domestic  arrangements,  and  the  combined  literature  of 
the  whole  company  would  have  produced  but  a  poor  letter 
on  any  subject.  Yet  there  was  a  remarkable  gentleness  and 
childishness  about  these  people,  a  special  inaptitude  for  any 
kind  of  sharp  practice,  and  an  untiring  readiness  to  help  and 
pity  one  another,  deserving  often  of  as  much  respect,  and 
always  of  as  much  generous  construction,  as  the  everyday 
virtues  of  any  class  of  people  in  the  world.  Last  of  all 
appeared  Mr.  Sleary  :  a  stout  man  as  already  mentioned,  with 
one  fixed  eye,  and  one  loose  eye,  a  voice  (if  it  can  be  called  so) 
like  the  efforts  of  a  broken  old  pair  of  bellows,  a  flabby  surface, 
and  a  muddled  head,  which  was  never  sober  and  never  drunk. 

"Thquire  !  "  said  Mr.  Sleary,  who  was  troubled  with  asthma, 
and  whose  breath  came  far  too  thick  and  heavy  for  the  letter  j, 
44  Your  thervant !  Thith  ith  a  bad  pieth  of  bithnith,  thith  ith. 
You've  heard  of  my  Clown  and  hith  dog  being  thuppothed  to 
have  morrithed  ? ' ' 

He  addressed  Mr.  Gradgrind,  who  answered  "  Yes." 

"Well,  Inquire,"  he  returned,  taking  off  his  hat  and 
rubbing  the  lining  with  his  pocket  handkerchief,  which  he 
kept  inside  for  the  purpose.  "Ith  it  your  intenthion  to  do 
anything  for  the  poor  girl,  Thquire?  " 

44 1  shall  have  something  to  propose  to  her  when  she  comes 
back,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind. 

44  Glad  to  hear  it,  Thquire.  Not  that  I  want  to  get  rid  of 
the  child,  any  more  than  I  want  to  thtand  in  her  way.  I'm 
willing  to  take  her  prentith,  though  at  her  age  ith  late.  My 
voithe  ith  a  little  huthky,  Thquire,  and  not  eathy  heard  by 
them  ath  don't  know  me  ;  but  if  you'd  been  chilled  and  heated, 
heated  and  chilled,  chilled  and  heated  in  the  ring  when  you 
\viilh  young,  ath  often  ath  I  have  been,  your  voithe  wouldn't 
have  lathted  out,  Thquire,  no  more  than  mine." 


THE  GliADGRIND   SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION  339 

"I  dare  say  not,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind. 

"Whatthall  it  be,  Thquire,  while  you  wait?  Thall  it  be 
Therry?  Give  it  a  name,  Thquire  !  "  said  Mr.  Sleary,  with 
a  hospitable  ease. 

"Nothing  for  me,  I  thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind. 

"Don't  thay  nothing,  Thquire.  What  doth  your  friend 
thay?  If  you  haven't  took  your  feed  yet,  have  a  glath  of 
bitterth." 

Here  his  daughter  Josephine  —  a  pretty  fair -haired  girl  of 
eighteen,  who  had  been  tied  on  a  horse  at  two  years  old,  and 
had  made  a  will  at  twelve,  which  she  always  carried  about  with 
her,  expressive  of  her  dying  desire  to  be  drawn  to  the  grave  by 
the  two  piebald  ponies  —  cried,  "Father,  hush  !  she  has  come 
back  !  "  Then  came  Sissy  Jupe,  running  into  the  room  as  she 
had  run  out  of  it.  And  when  she  saw  them  all  assembled,  and 
saw  their  looks,  and  saw  no  father  there,  she  broke  into  a 
most  deplorable  cry,  and  took  refuge  on  the  bosom  of  the  most 
accomplished  tight-rope  lady,  who  knelt  down  on  the  floor  to 
nurse  her  and  to  weep  over  her. 

"  Ith  an  infernal  thame,  upon  my  soul  it  ith,"  said  Sleary. 

"  O  my  dear  Father,  my  good  kind  Father,  where  are  you 
gone  ?  You  are  gone  to  try  to  do  me  some  good,  I  know  ! 
You  are  gone  away  for  my  sake,  I  am  sure  !  And  how  mis- 
erable and  helpless  you  will  be  without  me,  poor,  poor  Father, 
until  you  come  back  !  "  It  was  so  pathetic  to  hear  her  saying 
many  things  of  this  kind,  with  her  face  turned  upward,  and 
arms  stretched  out  as  if  she  were  trying  to  stop  his  depart- 
ing shadow  and  embrace  it,  that  no  one  spoke  a  word  until 
Mr.  Bounderby  (growing  impatient)  took  the  case  in  hand. 

"Now,  good  people  all,"  said  he,  "  this  is  wanton  waste  of 
time.  Let  the  girl  understand  the  fact.  Let  her  take  it  from 
me,  if  you  like,  who  have  been  run  away  from,  myself.  Here 
what's  your  name  !  Your  father  has  absconded — deserted  you 
—  and  you  mustn't  expect  to  see  him  again  as  long  as  you 
live." 

They  cared  so  little  for  plain  Fact,  these  people,  and  were 


340  CHARLES  DICKENS 

in  that  advanced  state  of  degeneracy  on  the  subject,  that, 
instead  of  being  impressed  by  the  speaker's  strong  common 
sense,  they  took  it  in  extraordinary  dudgeon.  The  men  mut- 
tered "Shame!"  and  the  women  "Brute  !"  and  Sleary,  in 
some  haste,  communicated  the  following  hint,  apart  to  Mr. 
Bounderby. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Thquire.  To  thpeak  plain  to  you,  my 
opinion  ith  that  you  had  better  cut  it  thort,  and  drop  it. 
They're  a  very  good-natur'd  people,  my  people,  but  they're 
accuthomed  to  be  quick  in  their  movementh  ;  and  if  you  don't 
act  upon  my  advithe,  I'm  damned  if  I  don't  believe  they'll 
pith  you  out  o'  winder." 

Mr.  Bounderby  being  restrained  by  this  mild  suggestion, 
Mr.  Gradgrind  found  an  opening  for  his  eminently  practical 
exposition  of  the  subject. 

"It  is  of  no  moment,"  he  said,  "whether  this  person  is  to  be 
expected  back  at  any  time,  or  the  contrary.  He  is  gone  away, 
and  there  is  no  present  expectation  of  his  return.  That,  I  be- 
lieve, is  agreed  on  all  hands." 

"  Thath  agreed,  Thquire.     Thick  to  that !  "     From  Sleary. 

"  Well  then.  I — who  came  here  to  inform  the  father  of  the 
poor  girl,  Jupe,  that  she  could  not  be  received  at  the  school 
any  more,  in  consequence  of  there  being  practical  objections, 
into  which  I  need  not  enter,  to  the  reception  there  of  the  chil- 
dren of  persons  so  employed  —  am  prepared,  in  these  altered  cir- 
cumstances, to  make  a  proposal.  I  am  willing  to  take  charge  of 
you,  Jupe,  and  to  educate  you,  and  provide  for  you.  The  only 
condition  (over  and  above  your  good  behavior)  I  make  is, 
that  you  decide  now,  at  once,  whether  to  accompany  me  or 
remain  here.  Also  that,  if  you  accompany  me  now,  it  is  under- 
stood that  you  communicate  no  more  with  any  of  your  friends 
who  are  here  present.  These  observations  comprise  the  whole 
of  the  case." 

"At  the  thame  time,"  said  Sleary,  "I  mutht  put  in  my 
word,  Thquire,  tho  that  both  thides  of  the  banner  may  be 
equally  theen.  If  you  like,  Thethilia,  to  be  prentitht,  you 


THE  GRADGRIND  SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION  341 

know  the  natur  of  the  work  and  you  know  your  companionth. 
Emma  Gordon,  in  whothe  lap  you're  a  lying  at  prethent,  would 
be  a  mother  to  you,  and  Joth'phine  would  be  a  thithter  to  you. 
I  don't  pretend  to  be  of  the  angel  breed  myself,  and  I  don't 
thay  but  what,  when  you  mith'd  your  tip,  you'd  find  me  cut 
up  rough,  and  thwear  an  oath  or  two  at  you.  But  what  I 
thay,  Thquire,  ith,  that  good-tempered  or  bad-tempered,  I 
never  did  a  horthe  a  injury  yet,  no  more  than  thwearing  at 
him  went,  and  that  I  don't  expect  I  thall  begin  otherwithe  at 
my  time  of  life,  with  a  rider.  I  never  wath  much  of  a  cackler, 
Thquire,  and  I  have  thed  my  thay. ' ' 

The  latter  part  of  this  speech  was  addressed  to  Mr.  Grad- 
grind,  who  received  it  with  a  grave  inclination  of  his  head,  and 
then  remarked: 

"  The  only  observation  I  will  make  to  you,  Jupe,  in  the  way 
of  influencing  your  decision,  is,  that  it  is  highly  desirable  to 
have  a  sound  practical  education,  and  that  even  your  father 
himself  (from  what  I  understand)  appears,  on  your  behalf,  to 
have  known  and  felt  that  much." 

The  last  words  had  a  visible  effect  upon  her.  She  stopped 
in  her  wild  crying,  a  little  detached  herself  from  Emma  Gor- 
don, and  turned  her  face  full  upon  her  patron.  The  whole 
company  perceived  the  force  of  the  change,  and  drew  a  long 
breath  together,  that  plainly  said,  "  she  will  go  !  " 

"Be  sure  you  know  your  own  mind,  Jupe,"  Mr.  Gradgrind 
cautioned  her ;  "I  say  no  more.  Be  sure  you  know  your  own 
mind!" 

"When  Father  comes  back,"  cried  the  girl,  bursting  into 
tears  again  after  a  minute's  silence,  "  how  will  he  ever  find  me 
if  I  go  away  !  " 

"You  may  be  quite  at  ease,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  calmly; 
he  worked  out  the  whole  matter  like  a  sum;  "  you  may  be 
quite  at  ease,  Jupe,  on  that  score.  In  such  a  case,  your  father, 
I  apprehend,  must  find  out  Mr. ' ' 

"Thleary.  Thath  my  name,  Thquire!  Not  athamed  of  it. 
Known  all  over  England,  and  alwayth  paythe  ith  way." 


342  CHARLES  DICKENS 

"  Must  find  out  Mr.  Sleary,  who  would  then  let  him  know 
where  you  went.  I  should  have  no  power  of  keeping  you 
against  his  wish,  and  he  would  have  no  difficulty,  at  any  time, 
in  finding  Mr.  Thomas  Gradgrind  of  Coketown.  I  am  well 
known." 

"  Well  known,"  assented  Mr.  Sleary,  rolling  his  loose  eye. 
"You're  one  of  the  thort,  Thquire,  that  keepth  a  prethiouth 
thight  of  money  out  of  the  houthe.  But  never  mind  that  at 
prethent. ' ' 

There  was  another  silence ;  and  then  she  exclaimed,  sobbing 
with  her  hands  before  her  face,  "  Oh,  give  me  my  clothes,  give 
me  my  clothes,  and  let  me  go  away  before  I  break  my  heart !  ' ' 

The  women  sadly  bestirred  themselves  to  get  the  clothes  to- 
gether —  it  was  soon  done,  for  they  were  not  many  —  and  to 
pack  them  in  a  basket  which  had  often  traveled  with  them. 
Sissy  sat  all  the  time,  upon  the  ground,  still  sobbing,  and  cov- 
ering her  eyes.  Mr.  Gradgrind  and  his  friend  Bounderby 
stood  near  the  door,  ready  to  take  her  away.  Mr.  Sleary  stood 
in  the  middle  of  the  room,  with  the  male  members  of  the  com- 
pany about  him,  exactly  as  he  would  have  stood  in  the  center 
of  the  ring  during  his  daughter  Josephine's  performance.  He 
wanted  nothing  but  his  whip. 

The  basket  packed  in  silence,  they  brought  her  bonnet  to  her, 
and  smoothed  her  disordered  hair,  and  put  it  on.  Then  they 
pressed  about  her ;  and  bent  over  her  in  very  natural  attitudes, 
kissing  and  embracing  her :  and  brought  the  children  to  take 
leave  of  her;  and  were  a  tender-hearted,  simple,  foolish  set  of 
women  altogether. 

"Now,  Jupe,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind.  "If  you  are  quite 
determined,  come!  " 

But  she  had  to  take  her  farewell  of  the  male  part  of  the  com- 
pany yet,  and  every  one  of  them  had  to  unfold  his  arms  (for 
they  all  assumed  the  professional  attitude  when  they  found 
themselves  near  Sleary),  and  give  her  a  parting  kiss  —  Master 
Kidderminster  excepted,  in  whose  young  nature  there  was  an 
original  flavor  of  the  misanthrope,  who  was  always  known  to 


THE  GRADGRIND   SYSTEM   OF  EDUCATION  343 

have  harbored  matrimonial  views,  and  who  moodily  withdrew. 
Mr.  Sleary  was  reserved  until  the  last.  Opening  his  arms 
wide  he  took  her  by  both  her  hands,  and  would  have  sprung 
her  up  and  down,  after  the  riding  master  manner  of  congratu- 
lating young  ladies  on  their  dismounting  from  a  rapid  act ;  but 
there  was  no  rebound  in  Sissy,  and  she  only  stood  before  him 
crying. 

"  Good-by,  my  dear!"  said  Sleary.  "You'll  make  your 
fortune,  I  hope,  and  none  of  our  poor  folkth  will  ever  trouble 
you,  I'll  pound  it.  I  with  your  father  hadn't  taken  hith  dog 
with  him;  ith  a  ill-con wenienth  to  have  the  dog  out  of  the 
billth.  But  on  thecond  thoughtth,  he  wouldn't  have  performed 
without  hith  mathter,  tho  ith  ath  broad  ath  long  !  ' ' 

With  that  he  regarded  her  attentively  with  his  fixed  eye, 
surveyed  his  company  with  his  loose  one,  kissed  her,  shook  his 
head,  and  handed  her  to  Mr.  Gradgrind  as  to  a  horse. 

"  There  the  ith,  Thquire,"  he  said,  sweeping  her  with  a  pro- 
fessional glance  as  if  she  were  being  adjusted  in  her  seat,  "  and 
the'll  do  you  juthtithe.  Good-by,  Thethilia !  " 

"Good-by,  Cecilia!"  "Good-by,  Sissy!"  "  God  bless 
you,  dear  !  "  In  a  variety  of  voices  from  all  the  room. 

But  the  riding  master  eye  had  observed  the  bottle  of  the 
nine  oils  in  her  bosom,  and  he  now  interposed  with,  "  Leave  the 
bottle,  my  dear ;  ith  large  to  carry ;  it  will  be  of  no  uthe  to  you 
now.  Give  it  to  me !  " 

"  No,  no  !  "  she  said,  in  another  burst  of  tears.  "  Oh,  no  ! 
Pray  let  me  keep  it  for  Father  till  he  comes  back !  •  He  will 
want  it  when  he  comes  back.  He  had  never  thought  of  going 
away,  when  he  sent  me  for  it.  I  must  keep  it  for  him,  if  you 
please ! ' ' 

"Tho  be  it,  my  dear.  (You  thee  how  it  ith,  Thquire!) 
Farewell,  Thethilia  !  My  latht  wordth  to  you  ith  thith,  Thtick 
to  the  termth  of  your  engagement,  be  obedient  to  the  Thquire, 
and  forget  uth.  But  if,  when  you're  grown  up  and  married 
well  off,  you  come  upon  any  horthe-riding  ever,  don't  be  hard 
upon  it,  don't  be  croth  with  it,  give  it  a  bethpeak  if  you  can, 


344  CHARLES  DICKENS 

and  think  you  might  do  wurth.  People  must  be  amuthed, 
Thquire,  somehow,"  continued  Sleary,  rendered  more  pursy 
than  ever,  by  so  much  talking ;  "they  can't  be  alwayth  a  work- 
ing, nor  yet  they  can't  be  alwayth  a  learning.  Make  the  betht 
of  uth ;  not  the  wurtht.  I've  got  my  living  out  of  the  horthe- 
riding  all  my  life,  I  know ;  but  I  conthider  that  I  lay  down  the 
philothophy  of  the  thubject  when  I  thay  to  you,  Thquire, 
make  the  betht  of  uth ;  not  the  wurtht !  ' ' 

The  Sleary  philosophy  was  propounded  as  they  went  down- 
stairs ;  and  the  fixed  eye  of  Philosophy — and  its  rolling  eye, 
too  —  soon  lost  the  three  figures  and  the  basket  in  the  darkness 
of  the  street. 

VII.   MKS.  SPARSIT 

Mr.  Bounderby  being  a  bachelor,  an  elderly  lady  presided 
over  his  establishment,  in  consideration  of  a  certain  annual 
stipend.  Mrs.  Sparsit  was  this  lady's  name  ;  and  she  was  a 
prominent  figure  in  attendance  on  Mr.  Bounderby's  car,  as  it 
rolled  along  in  triumph  with  the  bully  of  humility  inside. 

For  Mrs.  Sparsit  had  not  only  seen  different  days,  but  was 
highly  connected.  She  had  a  great  aunt  living  in  these  very 
times,  called  Lady  Scadgers.  Mr.  Sparsit,  deceased,  of  whom 
she  was  the  relict,  had  been  by  the  mother's  side  what  Mrs. 
Sparsit  still  called  ' '  a  Powler. ' '  Strangers  of  limited  infor- 
mation and  dull  apprehension  were  sometimes  observed  not  to 
know  what  a  Powler  was,  and  even  to  appear  uncertain  whether 
it  might  be  a  business  or  a  political  party  or  a  profession  of 
faith.  The  better  class  of  minds,  however,  did  not  need  to  be 
informed  that  the  Powlers  were  an  ancient  stock,  who  could 
trace  themselves  so  exceedingly  far  back  that  it  was  not  sur- 
prising if  they  sometimes  lost  themselves  —  which  they  had 
rather  frequently  done,  as  respected  horseflesh,  blind-hookey, 
Hebrew  monetary  transactions,  and  the  Insolvent  Debtors' 
Court. 

The  late  Mr.  Sparsit,  being  by  the  mother's  side  a  Powler, 


THE  GRADGRIND  SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION  345 

married  this  lady,  being  by  the  father's  side  a  Scadgers.  Lady 
Scadgers  (an  immensely  fat  old  woman,  with  an  inordinate 
appetite  for  butcher's  meat,  and  a  mysterious  leg  which  had 
now  refused  to  get  out  of  bed  for  fourteen  years)  contrived 
the  marriage,  at  a  period  when  Sparsit  was  just  of  age,  and 
chiefly  noticeable  for  a  slender  body,  weakly  supported  on  two 
long  slim  props,  and  surmounted  by  no  head  worth  mentioning. 
He  inherited  a  fair  fortune  from  his  uncle,  but  owed  it  all 
before  he  came  into  it,  and  spent  it  twice  over  immediately 
afterwards.  Thus,  when  he  died,  at  twenty-four  (the  scene  of 
his  decease,  Calais,  and  the  cause,  brandy),  he  did  not  leave 
his  widow,  from  whom  he  had  been  separated  soon  after  the 
honeymoon,  in  affluent  circumstances.  That  bereaved  lady, 
fifteen  years  older  than  he,  fell  presently  at  deadly  feud  with 
her  only  relative,  Lady  Scadgers  ;  and,  partly  to  spite  her 
Ladyship,  and  partly  to  maintain  herself,  went  out  at  a  salary. 
And  here  she  was  now,  in  her  elderly  days,  with  the  Corio- 
lanian  style  of  nose  and  the  dense  black  eyebrows  which  had 
captivated  Sparsit,  making  Mr.  Bounderby's  tea  as  he  took  his 
breakfast. 

If  Bounderby  had  been  a  Conqueror,  and  Mrs.  Sparsit  a 
captive  Princess  whom  he  took  about  as  a  feature  in  his  state- 
processions,  he  could  not  have  made  a  greater  flourish  with  her 
than  he  habitually  did.  Just  as  it  belonged  to  his  boastfulness 
to  depreciate  his  own  extraction,  so  it  belonged  to  it  to  exalt 
Mrs.  Sparsit's.  In  the  measure  that  he  would  not  allow  his 
own  youth  to  have  been  attended  by  a  single  favorable  circum- 
stance, he  brightened  Mrs.  Sparsit's  juvenile  career  with  every 
possible  advantage,  and  showered  wagonloads  of  early  roses 
all  over  that  lady's  path,  "And  yet,  Sir,"  he  would  say, 
"  how  does  it  turn  out,  after  all  ?  Why,  here  she  is  at  a  hundred 
a  year  (I  give  her  a  hundred,  which  she  is  pleased  to  term 
handsome),  keeping  the  house  of  Josiah  Bounderby  of  Coke- 
town  !  " 

Nay,  he  made  this  foil  of  his  so  very  widely  known,  that  third 
parties  took  it  up,  and  handled  it  on  some  occasions  with  consid- 


346  CHARLES  DICKENS 

erable  briskness.  It  was  one  of  the  most  exasperating  attributes 
of  Bounderby  that  he  not  only  sang  his  own  praises,  but  stimu- 
lated other  men  to  sing  them.  There  was  a  moral  infection 
of  claptrap  in  him.  Strangers,  modest  enough  elsewhere, 
started  up  at  dinners  in  Coketown,  and  boasted,  in  quite  a 
rampant  way,  of  Bounderby.  They  made  him  out  to  be  the 
Royal  arms,  the  Union  Jack,  Magna  Charta,  John  Bull,  Habeas 
Corpus,  the  Bill  of  Rights,  An  Englishman's  house  is  his 
castle,  Church  and  State,  and  God  Save  the  Queen,  all  put 
together.  And  as  often  (and  it  was  very  often)  as  an  orator 
of  this  kind  brought  into  his  peroration, 

"  Princes  and  lords  may  flourish  or  may  fade, 
A  breath  can  make  them,  as  a  breath  has  made," 

—  it  was,  for  certain,  more  or  less  understood  among  the  com- 
pany that  he  had  heard  of  Mrs.  Sparsit. 

"Mr.  Bounderby,"  said  Mrs.  Sparsit,  "you  are  unusually 
slow,  Sir,  with  your  breakfast  this  morning." 

"Why,  Ma'am,"  he  returned,  "I  am  thinking  about  Tom 
Gradgrind's  whim  :  "  Tom  Gradgrind,  for  a  bluff,  independent 
niuiuier  of  speaking  —  as  if  somebody  were  always  endeavor- 
ing to  bribe  him  with  immense  sums  to  say  Thomas,  and  he 
wouldn't ;  "  Tom  Gradgrind's  whim,  Ma'am,  of  bringing  up 
the  tumbling-girl." 

"The  girl  is  now  waiting  to  know,"  said  Mrs.  Sparsit, 
"whether  she  is  to  go  straight  to  the  school,  or  up  to  the 
Lodge." 

"She  must  wait,  Ma'am,"  answered  Bounderby,  "till  I 
know  myself.  "We  shall  have  Tom  Gradgrind  down  here 
presently,  I  suppose.  If  he  should  wish  her  to  remain  here  a 
day  or  two  longer,  of  course  she  can,  Ma'am." 

"Of  course  she  can,  if  you  wish  it,  Mr.  Bounderby." 

"I  told  him  that  I  would  give  her  a  shakedown  here,  last 
night,  in  order  that  he  might  sleep  on  it  before  he  decided  to 
let  her  have  any  association  with  Louisa." 

"Indeed,  Mr.  Bounderby  ?    Very  thoughtful  of  you ! " 


THE  GRADGRIND  SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION  347 

Mrs.  Sparsit's  Coriolanian  nose  underwent  a  slight  expansion 
of  the  nostrils,  and  her  black  eyebrows  contracted  as  she  took  a 
sip  of  tea. 

"  It's  tolerably  clear  to  me,"  said  Bounderby,  "  that  the  little 
puss  can  get  small  good  out  of  such  companionship." 

"Are  you  speaking  of  young  Miss  Gradgrind,  Mr.  Boun- 
derby?" 

"Yes,  Ma'am,  I'm  speaking  of  Louisa.'* 

' '  Your  observation  being  limited  to  '  little  puss, '  ' '  said 
Mrs.  Sparsit,  "and  there  being  two  little  girls  in  question,  I 
did  not  know  which  might  be  indicated  by  that  expression. ' ' 

"  Louisa,"  repeated  Mr.  Bounderby.     "  Louisa,  Louisa." 

"  You  are  quite  another  father  to  Louisa,  Sir."  Mrs.  Sparsit 
took  a  little  more  tea  ;  and,  as  she  bent  her  again  contracted 
eyebrows  over  her  steaming  cup,  rather  looked  as  if  her  clas- 
sical countenance  were  invoking  the  infernal  gods. 

' '  If  you  had  said  I  was  another  father  to  Tom  —  young 
Tom,  I  mean,  not  my  friend  Tom  Gradgrind  —  you  might 
have  been  nearer  the  mark.  I  am  going  to  take  young 
Tom  into  my  office.  Going  to  have  him  under  my  wing, 
Ma'am." 

"Indeed?  Rather  young  for  that,  is  he  not,  Sir?"  Mrs. 
Sparsit's  "sir,"  in  addressing  Mr.  Bounderby,  was  a  word  of 
ceremony,  rather  exacting  consideration  for  herself  in  the  use, 
than  honoring  him. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  take  him  at  once ;  he  is  to  finish  his  edu- 
cational cramming  before  then,"  said  Bounderby.  "By  the 
Lord  Harry,  he'll  have  enough  of  it,  first  and  last !  He'd  open 
his  eyes,  that  boy  would,  if  he  knew  how  empty  of  learning 
my  young  maw  was  at  his  time  of  life."  Which,  by  the  by,  he 
probably  did  know,  for  he  had  heard  of  it  often  enough.  "  But 
it's  extraordinary  the  difficulty  I  have  on  scores  of  such  subjects, 
in  speaking  to  any  one  on  equal  terms.  Here,  for  example, 
I  have  been  speaking  to  you  this  morning  about  tumblers. 
Why,  what  do  you  know  about  tumblers  ?  At  the  time  when, 
to  have  been  a  tumbler  in  the  mud  of  the  streets  would  have 


348  CHARLES  DICKENS 

been  a  godsend  to  me,  a  prize  in  the  lottery  to  me,  you  were  at 
the  Italian  Opera.  You  were  coming  out  of  the  Italian  Opera, 
Ma'am,  in  white  satin  and  jewels,  a  blaze  of  splendor,  when  I 
hadn't  a  penny  to  buy  a  link  to  light  you." 

"I  certainly,  Sir,"  returned  Mrs.  Sparsit,  with  a  dignity 
serenely  mournful,  "  was  familiar  with  the  Italian  Opera  at  a 
very  early  age." 

"  Egad,  Ma'am,  so  was  I,"  said  Bounderby,  —  "  with  the 
wrong  side  of  it.  A  hard  bed  the  pavement  of  its  Arcade 
used  to  make,  I  assure  you.  People  like  you,  Ma'am,  accus- 
tomed from  infancy  to  lie  on  down  feathers,  have  no  idea  how 
hard  a  pavingstone  is,  without  trying  it.  No,  no,  it's  of  no 
use  my  talking  to  you  about  tumblers.  I  should  speak  of  for- 
eign dancers,  and  the  West  End  of  London,  and  May  Fair,  and 
Lords  and  Ladies  and  Honorables." 

"  I  trust,  Sir,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Sparsit,  with  decent  resignation, 
"  it  is  not  necessary  that  you  should  do  anything  of  that  kind. 
I  hope  I  have  learnt  how  to  accommodate  myself  to  the  changes 
of  life.  If  I  have  acquired  an  interest  in  hearing  of  your 
instructive  experiences,  and  can  scarcely  hear  enough  of  them, 
I  claim  no  merit  for  that,  since  I  believe  it  is  a  general  senti- 
ment." 

"  Well,  Ma'am,"  said  her  patron,  "  perhaps  some  people  may 
be  pleased  to  say  that  they  do  like  to  hear,  in  his  own  unpol- 
ished way,  what  Josiah  Bounderby,  of  Coketown,  has  gone 
through.  But  you  must  confess  that  you  were  born  in  the 
lap  of  luxury,  yourself.  Come,  Ma'am,  you  know  you  were 
born  in  the  lap  of  luxury." 

"  I  do  not,  Sir,"  returned  Mrs.  Sparsit,  with  a  shake  of  her 
head,  "deny  it." 

Mr.  Bounderby  was  obliged  to  get  up  from  table,  and  stand 
with  his  back  to  the  fire,  looking  at  her;  she  was  such  an 
enhancement  of  his  position. 

"And  you  were  in  crack  society.  Devilish  high  society," 
he  said,  warming  his  legs. 

"  It  is  true,  Sir,"  returned  Mrs.  Sparsit,  with  an  affectation 


THE    GRADGRIND    SYSTEM    OF   EDUCATION  349 

of  humility  the  very  opposite  of  his,  and  therefore  in  no  danger 
of  jostling  it. 

"  You  were  in  the  tiptop  fashion,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,"  said 
Mr.  Bounderby. 

"Yes,  Sir,"  returned  Mrs.  Sparsit,  with  a  kind  of  social 
widowhood  upon  her.  "It  is  unquestionably  true." 

Mr.  Bounderby,  bending  himself  at  the  knees,  literally  em- 
braced his  legs  in  his  great  satisfaction  and  laughed  aloud. 
Mr.  and  Miss  Gradgrind  being  then  announced,  he  received 
the  former  with  a  shake  of  the  hand,  and  the  latter  with  a  kiss. 

"Can  Jupe  be  sent  here,  Bounderby ?"  asked  Mr.  Gradgrind. 

Certainly.  So  Jupe  was  sent  there.  On  coming  in,  she 
courtesied  to  Mr.  Bounderby  and  to  his  friend  Tom  Grad- 
grind and  also  to  Louisa,  but,  in  her  confusion,  unluckily 
omitted  Mrs.  Sparsit.  Observing  this,  the  blustrous  Boun- 
derby had  the  following  remarks  to  make  : 

"Now,  I  tell  you  what,  my  girl.  The  name  of  that  lady  by 
the  teapot  is  Mrs.  Sparsit.  That  lady  acts  as  mistress  of  this 
house,  and  she  is  a  highly  connected  lady.  Consequently,  if 
ever  you  come  again  into  any  room  in  this  house,  you  will 
make  a  short  stay  in  it  if  you  don't  behave  towards  that  lady 
in  your  most  respectful  manner.  Now,  I  don't  care  a  button 
what  you  do  to  we,  because  I  don't  affect  to  be  anybody.  So 
far  from  having  high  connections,  I  have  no  connections  at  all, 
and  I  come  of  the  scum  of  the  earth.  But  towards  that  lady, 
I  do  care  what  you  do ;  and  you  shall  do  what  is  deferential 
and  respectful,  or  you  shall  not  come  here." 

"  I  hope,  Bounderby,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  in  a  conciliatory 
voice,  "  that  this  was  merely  an  oversight." 

"My  friend  Tom  Gradgrind  suggests,  Mrs.  Sparsit,"  said 
Bounderby,  "  that  this  was  merely  an  oversight.  Very  likely. 
However,  as  you  are  aware,  Ma'am,  I  don't  allow  of  even  over- 
sights towards  you." 

"You  are  very  good  indeed,  Sir,"  returned  Mrs.  Sparsit, 
shaking  her  head  with  her  state  humility.  "It  is  not  worth 
speaking  of." 


350  CHARLES    DICKENS 

Sissy,  who  all  this  time  had  been  excusing  herself  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  was  now  waved  over  by  the  master  of  the 
house  to  Mr.  Gradgrind.  She  stood  looking  intently  at  him, 
and  Louisa  stood  coldly  by,  with  her  eyes  upon  the  ground, 
while  he  proceeded  thus  : 

"  Jupe,  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  take  you  into  my  house 
and,  when  you  are  not  in  attendance  at  the  school,  to  employ 
you  about  Mrs.  Gradgrind,  who  is  rather  an  invalid.  I  have 
explained  to  Miss  Louisa  —  this  is  Miss  Louisa  — the  miserable, 
but  natural,  end  of  your  late  career ;  and  you  are  to  expressly 
understand  that  the  whole  of  that  subject  is  past,  and  is  not  to 
be  referred  to  any  more.  From  this  time,  you  begin  your  his- 
tory. You  are,  at  present,  ignorant,  I  know." 

"  Yes,  Sir,  very,"  she  answered,  courtesying. 

"  I  shall  have  the  satisfaction  of  causing  you  to  be  strictly 
educated ;  and  you  will  be  a  living  proof  to  all  who  come  into 
communication  with  you,  of  the  advantages  of  the  training  you 
will  receive.  You  will  be  reclaimed  and  formed.  You  have 
been  in  the  habit  now  of  reading  to  your  father  and  those 
people  I  found  you  among,  I  dare  say  ?  "  said  Mr.  Gradgrind, 
beckoning  her  nearer  to  him  before  he  said  so,  and  dropping 
his  voice. 

"  Only  to  Father  and  Merrylegs,  Sir.  At  least  I  mean  to 
Father,  when  Merrylegs  was  always  there." 

"  Never  mind  Merrylegs,  Jupe,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  with  a 
passing  frown.  "I  don't  ask  about  him.  I  understand  you 
to  have  been  in  the  habit  of  reading  to  your  father  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  Sir,  thousands  of  times.  They  were  the  happiest 
—  O,  of  all  the  happy  times  we  had  together,  Sir ! " 

It  was  only  now,  when  her  sorrow  broke  out,  that  Louisa 
looked  at  her. 

"And  what,"  asked  Mr.  Gradgrind,  in  a  still  lower  voice, 
kt  did  you  read  to  your  father,  Jupe  ?  " 

"About  the  Fairies,  Sir,  and  the  Dwarf,  and  the  Hunchback, 
and  the  Genii,"  she  sobbed ;  "  and  about  — 

"  Hush  !  "  said   Mr.    Gradgrind,   "  that   is   enough.      Never 


THE    GRADGRIND    SYSTEM    OF   EDUCATION  351 

breathe  a  word  of  such  destructive  nonsense  any  more.  Boun- 
derby, this  is  a  case  for  rigid  training,  and  I  shall  observe  it 
with  interest." 

"  Well,"  returned  Mr.  Bounderby,  "  I  have  given  you  my 
opinion  already,  and  I  shouldn't  do  as  you  do.  But,  very  well, 
very  well.  Since  you  are  bent  upon  it,  very  well  ! " 

So  Mr.  Gradgrind  arid  his  daughter  took  Cecilia  Jupe  off 
with  them  to  Stone  Lodge,  and  on  the  way  Louisa  never  spoke 
one  word,  good  or  bad.  And  Mr.  Bounderby  went  about  his 
daily  pursuits.  And  Mrs.  Sparsit  got'  behind  her  eyebrows 
and  meditated  in  the  glooni  of  that  retreat  all  the  evening. 


VIII.  NEVER  WONDER 

Let  us  strike  the  keynote  again,  before  pursuing  the  tune. 

When  she  was  half  a  dozen  years  younger,  Louisa  had  been 
overheard  to  begin  a  conversation  with  her  brother  one  day,  by 
saying  "  Tom,  I  wonder "  —  upon  which  Mr.  Gradgrind,  who 
was  the  person  overhearing,  stepped  forth  into  the  light  and 
said,  "  Louisa,  never  wonder ! " 

Herein  lay  the  spring  of  the  mechanical  art  and  mystery  of 
educating  the  reason  without  stooping  to  the  cultivation  of  the 
sentiments  and  affections.  Never  wonder.  By  means  of  addi- 
tion, subtraction,  multiplication,  and  division,  settle  everything 
somehow,  and  never  wonder.  "  Bring  to  me,''  says  M'Choak- 
umchild,  "  yonder  baby  just  able  to  walk,  and  I  will  engage 
that  it  shall  never  wonder." 

Now,  besides  very  many  babies  just  able  to  walk,  there  hap- 
pened to  be  in  Coketown  a  considerable  population  of  babies 
who  had  been  walking  against  time  towards  the  infinite  world, 
twenty,  thirty,  forty,  fifty  years  and  more.  These  portentous 
infants  being  alarming  creatures  to  stalk  about  in  any  human 
society,  the  eighteen  denominations  incessantly  scratched  one 
another's  faces  and  pulled  one  another's  hair  by  way  of  agree- 
ing on  the  steps  to  be  taken  for  their  improvement  —  which 


352  CHARLES    DICKENS 

they  never  did;  a  surprising  circumstance,  when  the  happy 
adaptation  of  the  means  to  the  end  is  considered.  Still, 
although  they  differed  in  every  other  particular,  conceivable 
and  inconceivable  (especially  inconceivable),  they  were  pretty 
well  united  on  the  point  that  these  unlucky  infants  were  never 
to  wonder.  Body  number  one  said  they  must  take  everything 
on  trust.  Body  number  two  said  they  must  take  everything 
on  political  economy.  Body  number  three  wrote  leaden  little 
books  for  them,  showing  how  the  good  grown-up  baby  invaria- 
bly got  to  the  savings  bank,  and  the  bad  grown-up  baby 
invariably  got  transported.  Body  number  four,  under  dreary 
pretenses  of  being  droll  (when  it  was  very  melancholy,  indeed), 
made  the  shallowest  pretenses  of  concealing  pitfalls  of  knowl- 
edge, into  which  it  was  the  duty  of  these  babies  to  be  smug- 
gled and  inveigled.  But  all  the  bodies  agreed  that  they  were 
never  to  wonder. 

There  was  a  library  in  Coketown,  to  which  general  access 
was  easy.  Mr.  Gradgrind  greatly  tormented  his  mind  about 
what  the  people  read  in  this  library — a  point  whereon  little 
rivers  of  tabular  statements  periodically  flowed  into  the  howl- 
ing ocean  of  tabular  statements,  which  no  diver  ever  got  to 
any  depth  in  and  came  up  sane.  It  was  a  disheartening  cir- 
cumstance, but  a  melancholy  fact,  that  even  these  readers  per- 
sisted in  wondering.  They  wondered  about  human  nature, 
human  passions,  human  hopes  and  fears,  the  struggles,  tri- 
umphs and  defeats,  the  cares  and  joys  and  sorrows,  the  lives 
and  deaths  of  common  men  and  women !  They  sometimes, 
after  fifteen  hours'  work,  sat  down  to  read  mere  fables  about 
men  and  women,  more  or  less  like  themselves,  and  about  chil- 
dren, more  or  less  like  their  own.  They  took  De  Foe  to  their 
bosoms,  instead  of  Euclid,  and -seemed  to  be,  on  the  whole,  more 
comforted  by  Goldsmith  than  by  Cocker.  Mr.  Gradgrind  was 
forever  working,  in  print  and  out  of  print,  at  this  eccentric 
sum,  and  he  never  could  make  out  how  it  yielded  this  unac- 
countable product. 

"  I  am  sick  of  my  life,  Loo.     I  hate  it  altogether,  and  I  hate 


THE    GEADGRIND    SYSTEM    OF   EDUCATION  353 

everybody  except  you,"  said  the  unnatural  young  Thomas 
Gradgrind  in  the  hair-cutting  chamber  at  twilight. 

"  You  don't  hate  Sissy,  Tom  ? " 

"  I  hate  to  be  obliged  to  call  her  Jupe.  And  she  hates  me," 
said  Tom,  moodily. 

"  No,  she  does  not,  Tom,  I  am  sure  ! " 

"She  must,"  said  Tom.  "She  must  just  hate  and  detest 
the  whole  set-out  of  us.  They'll  bother  her  head  off,  I  think, 
before  they  have  done  with  her.  Already  she's  getting  as  pale 
as  wax,  and  as  heavy  as  —  I  am." 

Young  Thomas  expressed  these  sentiments  sitting  astride  of 
a  chair  before  the  fire,  with  his  arms  on  the  back,  and  his  sulky 
face  on  his  arms.  His  sister  sat  in  the  darker  corner  by  the 
fireside,  now  looking  at  him,  now  looking  at  the  bright  sparks 
as  they  dropped  upon  the  hearth. 

"  As  to  me,"  said  Tom,  tumbling  his  hair  all  manner  of  ways 
with  his  sulky  hands,  "  I  am  a  donkey,  that's  what  I  am.  I 
am  as  obstinate  as  one,  I  am  more  stupid  than  one,  I  get  as 
much  pleasure  as  one,  and  I  should  like  to  kick  like  one." 

"  Not  me,  I  hope,  Tom  ?  " 

"  No,  Loo ;  I  wouldn't  hurt  you.  I  made  an  exception  of  you 
at  first.  I  don't  know  what  this  —  jolly  old  —  Jaundiced  Jail  " 
(Tom  had  paused  to  find  a  sufficiently  complimentary  and  ex- 
pressive name  for  the  parental  roof,  and  seemed  to  relieve  his 
mind  for  a  moment  by  the  strong  alliteration  of  this  one) 
"would  be  without  you." 

"  Indeed,  Tom  ?      Do  you  really  and  truly  say  so  ?  " 

"Why,  of  course  I  do.  What's  the  use  of  talking  about 
it ! "  returned  Tom,  chafing  his  face  on  his  coat  sleeve,  as  if  to 
mortify  his  flesh,  and  have  it  in  unison  with  his  spirit. 

"Because,  Tom,"  said  his  sister,  after  silently  watching  the 
sparks  awhile,  "  as  I  get  older,  and  nearer  growing  up,  I  often 
sit  wondering  here,  and  think  how  unfortunate  it  is  for  me 
that  I  can't  reconcile  you  to  home  better  than  I  am  able  to  do. 
I  don't  know  what  other  girls  know.  I  can't  play  to  you,  or 
sing  to  you.  I  can't  talk  to  you  so  as  to  lighten  your  mind, 

§Clf.   IN  COM. $3 


354  CHAELES  DICKENS 

for  I  never  see  any  amusing  sights  or  read  any  amusing  books 
that  it  would  be  a  pleasure  or  a  relief  to  you  to  talk  about, 
when  you  are  tired." 

"  Well,  no  more  do  I.  I  am  as  bad  as  you  in  that  respect ; 
and  I  am  a  mule  too,  which  you're  not.  If  Father  was  deter- 
mined to  make  me  either  a  prig  or  a  mule,  and  I  am  not  a 
prig,  why,  it  stands  to  reason,  I  must  be  a  mule.  And  so  I 
am,"  said  Tom,  desperately. 

"It's  a  great  pity,"  said  Louisa,  after  another  pause,  and 
speaking  thoughtfully  out  of  her  dark  corner  ;  "  it's  a  great 
pity,  Tom.  It's  very  unfortunate  for  both  of  us." 

"  Oh !  You,"  said  Tom ;  "  you  are  a  girl,  Loo,  and  a  girl 
comes  out  of  it  better  than  a  boy  does.  I  don't  miss  any- 
thing in  you.  You  are  the  only  pleasure  I  have  —  you  can 
brighten  even  this  place  —  and  you  can  always  lead  me  as  you 
like." 

"  You  are  a  dear  brother,  Tom ;  and  while  you  think  I  can 
do  such  things,  I  don't  so  much  mind  knowing  better.  Though 
I  do  know  better,  Tom,  and  am  very  sorry  for  it."  She  came 
and  kissed  him,  and  went  back  into  her  corner  again. 

"  I  wish  I  could  collect  all  the  Facts  we  hear  so  much  about," 
said  Tom,  spitefully  setting  his  teeth,  "and  all  the  Figures, 
and  all  the  people  who  found  them  out;  and  I  wish  I  could 
put  a  thousand  barrels  of  gunpowder  under  them,  and  blow 
them  all  up  together !  However,  when  I  go  to  live  with  old 
Bounderby,  I'll  have  my  revenge." 

"  Your  revenge,  Tom  ?  " 

"I  mean,  I'll  enjoy  myself  a  little,  and  go  about  and  see 
something,  and  hear  something.  I'll  recompense  myself  for 
the  way  in  which  I  have  been  brought  up." 

"But  don't  disappoint  yourself  beforehand,  Tom.  Mr. 
Bounderby  thinks  as  Father  thinks,  and  is  a  great  deal  rougher, 
and  not  half  so  kind." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Tom,  laughing ;  "  I  don't  mind  that.  I  shall 
very  well  know  how  to  manage  and  smooth  old  Bounderby !  " 

Their  shadows  were  denned  upon  the  wall,  but  those  of  the 


THE  GEADGEIND  SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION  355 

high  presses  in  the  room  were  all  blended  together  on  the  wall 
and  on  the  ceiling,  as  if  the  brother  and  sister  were  overhung 
by  a  dark  cavern.  Or  a  fanciful  imagination  —  if  such  treason 
could  have  been  there  —  might  have  made  it  out  to  be  the 
shadow  of  their  subject,  and  of  its  lowering  association  with 
their  future. 

"  What  is  your  great  mode  of  smoothing  and  managing,  Tom  ? 
Is  it  a  secret  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Tom,  "  if  it  is  a  secret,  it's  not  far  off.  It's  you. 
You  are  his  little  pet,  you  are  his  favorite  ;  he'll  do  anything 
for  you.  When  he  says  to  me  what  I  don't  like,  I  shall  say 
to  him,  *  My  sister  Loo  will  be  hurt  and  disappointed,  Mr. 
Bounderby.  She  always  used  to  tell  me  she  was  sure  you 
would  be  easier  with  me  than  this.'  That'll  bring  him  about, 
or  nothing  will." 

After  waiting  for  some  answering  remark,  and  getting  none, 
Tom  wearily  relapsed  into  the  present  time,  and  twined  himself 
yawning  round  and  about  the  rails  of  his  chair,  and  rumpled  his 
head  more  and  more,  until  he  suddenly  looked  up,  and  asked  : 

"  Have  you  gone  to  sleep,  Loo  ?  " 

"  No,  Tom.     I  am  looking  at  the  fire." 

"  You  seem  to  find  more  to  look  at  in  it  than  ever  I  could 
find,"  said  Tom.  "  Another  of  the  advantages,  I  suppose,  of 
being  a  girl." 

"Tom,"  inquired  his  sister,  slowly,  and  in  a  curious  tone,  as 
if  she  were  reading  what  she  asked  in  the  fire,  and  it  were  not 
quite  plainly  written  there,  "  do  you  look  forward  with  any 
satisfaction  to  this  change  to  Mr.  Bounderby's  ?  " 

"  Why,  there's  one  thing  to  be  said  of  it,"  returned  Tom, 
pushing  his  chair  from  him,  and  standing  up  ;  "  it  will  be  get- 
ting away  from  home." 

"  There  is  one  thing  to  be  said  of  it,"  Louisa  repeated  in  her 
former  curious  tone  ;  "  it  will  be  getting  away  from  home. 
Yes." 

"  Not  but  what  I  shall  be  very  unwilling,  both  to  leave  you, 
Loo,  and  to  leave  you  here.  But  I  must  go,  you  know,  whether 


356  CHARLES  DICKENS 

I  like  it  or  not ;  and  I  had  better  go  where  I  can  take  with  me 
some  advantage  of  your  influence,  than  where  I  should  lose  it 
altogether.  Don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Tom." 

The  answer  was  so  long  in  coming,  though  there  was  no  inde- 
cision in  it,  that  Tom  went  and  leaned  on  the  back  of  her  chair, 
to  contemplate  the  fire  which  so  engrossed  her,  from  her  point 
of  view,  and  see  what  he  could  make  of  it. 

"  Except  that  it  is  a  fire,"  said  Tom,  "  it  looks  to  me  as  stupid 
and  blank  as  everything  else  looks.  What  do  you  see  in  it  ? 
Not  a  circus  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  anything  in  it,  Tom,  particularly.  But  since  I 
have  been  looking  at  it,  I  have  been  wondering  about  you  and 
me,  grown  up." 

"  Wondering  again !  "  said  Tom. 

"  I  have  such  unmanageable  thoughts,"  returned  his  sister, 
"  that  they  will  wonder." 

"  Then  I  beg  of  you,  Louisa,"  said  Mrs.  Gradgrind,  who  had 
opened  the  door  without  being  heard,  "  to  do  nothing  of  that 
description,  for  goodness'  sake,  you  inconsiderate  girl,  or  I  shall 
never  hear  the  last  of  it  from  your  father.  And,  Thomas,  it  is 
really  shameful,  with  my  poor  head  continually  wearing  me  out, 
that  a  boy  brought  up  as  you  have  been,  and  whose  education 
has  cost  what  yours  has,  should  be  found  encouraging  his  sister 
to  wonder,  when  he  knows  his  father  has  expressly  said  that  she 
is  not  to  do  it." 

Louisa  denied  Tom's  participation  in  the  offense  ;  but  her 
mother  stopped  her  with  the  conclusive  answer,  "  Louisa,  don't 
tell  me,  in  my  state  of  health  ;  for  unless  you  had  been 
encouraged,  it  is  morally  and  physically  impossible  that  you 
could  have  done  it." 

"  I  was  encouraged  by  nothing,  Mother,  but  by  looking  at  the 
red  sparks  dropping  out  of  the  fire,  and  whitening  and  dying. 
It  made  me  think,  after  all,  how  short  my  life  would  be,  and 
how  little  I  could  hope  to  do  in  it." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Mrs.  Gradgrind,  rendered  almost  ener- 


357 

getic.  "  Nonsense  !  Don't  stand  there  and  tell  me  such  stuff, 
Louisa,  to  my  face,  when  you  know  very  well  that  if  it  was  ever 
to  reach  your  father's  ears  I  should  never  hear  the  last  of  it. 
After  all  the  trouble  that  has  been  taken  with  you  !  After  the 
lectures  you  have  attended,  and  the  experiments  you  have  seen ! 
After  I  have  heard  you  myself,  when  the  whole  of  my  right  side 
has  been  benumbed,  going  on  with  your  master  about  combus- 
tion, and  calcination,  and  calorification,  and  I  may  say  every 
kind  of  ation  that  could  drive  a  poor  invalid  distracted,  to  hear 
you  talking  in  this  absurd  way  about  sparks  and  ashes !  I 
wish,"  whimpered  Mrs.  Gradgrind,  taking  a  chair,  and  dis- 
charging her  strongest  point  before  succumbing  under  these 
mere  shadows  of  facts,  "  yes,  I  really  do  wish  that  I  had  never 
had  a  family,  and  then  you  would  have  known  what  it  was  to 
do  without  me !  " 

IX.   SISSY'S  PROGRESS 

Sissy  Jupe  had  not  an  easy  time  of  it,  between  Mr. 
M'Choakumchild  and  Mrs.  Gradgrind,  and  was  not  without 
strong  impulses,  in  the  first  months  of  her  probation,  to  run 
away.  It  hailed  facts  all  day  long  so  very  hard,  and  life  in 
general  was  opened  to  her  as  such  a  closely  ruled  ciphering- 
book,  that  assuredly  she  would  have  run  away,  but  for  only 
one  restraint. 

It  is  lamentable  to  think  of ;  but  this  restraint  was  the  re- 
sult of  no  arithmetical  process,  was  self-imposed  in  defiance  of 
all  calculation,  and  went  dead  against  any  table  of  probabilities 
that  any  actuary  would  have  drawn  up  from  the  premises. 
The  girl  believed  that  her  father  had  not  deserted  her;  she 
lived  in  the  hope  that  he  would  come  back,  and  in  the  faith 
that  he  would  be  made  the  happier  by  her  remaining  where  she 
was. 

The  wretched  ignorance  with  which  Jupe  clung  to  this  con- 
solation, rejecting  the  superior  comfort  of  knowing,  on  a  sound 
arithmetical  basis,  that  her  father  was  an  unnatural  vagabond, 


358  CHARLES  DICKENS 

filled  Mr.  Gradgrind  with  pity.  Yet,  what  was  to  be  done? 
M'Choakumchild  reported  that  she  had  a  very  dense  head  for 
figures ;  that,  once  possessed  with  a  general  idea  of  the  globe, 
she  took  the  smallest  conceivable  interest  in  its  exact  measure- 
ments ;  that  she  was  extremely  slow  in  the  acquisition  of  dates, 
unless  some  pitiful  incident  happened  to  be  connected  there- 
with; that  she  would  burst  into  tears  on  being  required  (by 
the  mental  process)  immediately  to  name  the  cost  of  two  hun- 
dred and  forty-seven  muslin  caps,  at  fourteen-pence  half-penny; 
that  she  was  as  low  down,  in  the  school,  as  low  could  be ;  that 
after  eight  weeks  of  induction  into  the  elements  of  political 
economy,  she  had  only  yesterday  been  set  right  by  a  prattler 
three  feet  high,  for  returning  to  the  question,  "What  is 
the  first  principle  of  this  science  ? "  the  absurd  answer, 
"To  do  unto  others  as  I  would  that  they  should  do  unto 
me." 

Mr.  Gradgrind  observed,  shaking  his  head,  that  all  this  was 
very  bad ;  that  it  showed  the  necessity  of  infinite  grinding  at 
the  mill  of  knowledge,  as  per  system,  schedule,  blue  book, 
report,  and  tabular  statements  A  to  Z ;  and  that  Jupe  "  must 
be  kept  to  it."  So  Jupe  was  kept  to  it,  and  became  low- 
spirited,  but  no  wiser. 

"  It  would  be  a  fine  thing  to  be  you,  Miss  Louisa !  "  she  said 
one  night,  when  Louisa  had  endeavored  to  make  her  perplexi- 
ties for  next  day  something  clearer  to  her. 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"  I  should  know  so  much,  Miss  Louisa.  All  that  is  difficult 
to  me  now,  would  be  so  easy  then." 

"  You  might  not  be  the  better  for  it,  Sissy." 

Sissy  submitted,  after  a  little  hesitation.  "  I  should  not  be 
the  worse,  Miss  Louisa."  To  which  Miss  Louisa  answered,  "I 
don't  know  that." 

There  had  been  so  little  communication  between  these  two  — 
both  because  life  at  Stone  Lodge  went  monotonously  round  like 
a  piece  of  machinery  which  discouraged  human  interference, 
and  because  of  the  prohibition  relative  to  Sissy's  past  career  — 


THE  GEADGBIND  SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION  359 

that  they  were  still  almost  strangers.  Sissy,  with  her  dark  eyes 
wonderingly  directed  to  Louisa's  face,  was  uncertain  whether  to 
say  more  or  to  remain  silent. 

"  You  are  more  useful  to  my  mother,  and  more  pleasant  with 
her  than  I  can  ever  be,"  Louisa  resumed.  "  You  are  pleasanter 
to  yourself,  than  /am  to  myself." 

"But,  if  you  please,  Miss  Louisa,"  Sissy  pleaded,  "I  am — O 
so  stupid  !  " 

Louisa,  with  a  brighter  laugh  than  usual,  told  her  she  would 
be  wiser  by  and  by. 

"  You  don't  know,"  said  Sissy,  half  crying,  "  what  a  stupid 
girl  I  am.  All  through  school  hours  I  make  mistakes.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  M'Choakumchild  call  me  up,  over  and  over  again, 
regularly  to  make  mistakes.  I  can't  help  them.  They  seem  to 
come  natural  to  me." 

"Mr.  and  Mrs.  M'Choakumchild  never  make  any  mistakes 
themselves,  I  suppose,  Sissy  ?  " 

"  O  no  !  "  she  eagerly  returned.  "  They  know  every- 
thing." 

"Tell  me  some  of  your  mistakes." 

"  I  am  almost  ashamed,"  said  Sissy,  with  reluctance.  "  But 
to-day,  for  instance,  Mr.  M'Choakumchild  was  explaining  to  us 
about  natural  prosperity." 

"  National,  I  think  it  must  have  been,"  observed  Louisa. 

"Yes,  it  was.  — But  isn't  it  the  same? "  she  timidly  asked. 

"  You  had  better  say,  national,  as  he  said  so,"  returned  Louisa, 
with  her  dry  reserve. 

"  National  prosperity.  And  he  said,  '  Now,  this  schoolroom  is 
a  nation.  And  in  this  nation,  there  are  fifty  millions  of  money. 
Isn't  this  a  prosperous  nation  ?  Girl  Number  Twenty,  isn't  this 
a  prosperous  nation,  and  ain't  you  in  a  thriving  state  ? ' ' 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  "  asked  Louisa. 

"  Miss  Louisa,  I  said  I  didn't  know.  I  thought  I  couldn't 
know  whether  it  was  a  prosperous  nation  or  not,  and  wrhether  I 
was  in  a  thriving  state  or  not,  unless  I  knew  who  had  got  the 
money,  and  whether  any  of  it  was  mine.  But  that  had  nothing 


360 

to  do  with  it.  It  was  not  in  the  figures  at  all,"  said  Sissy,  wip- 
ing her  eyes. 

"  That  was  a  great  mistake  of  yours,"  observed  Louisa. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Louisa,  I  know  it  was,  now.  Then  Mr.  M'Choak- 
umchild  said  he  would  try  me  again.  And  he  said  :  '  This 
schoolroom  is  an  immense  town,  and  in  it  there  are  a  million  of 
inhabitants,  and  only  five-and-twenty  are  starved  to  death  in 
the  streets  in  the  course  of  a  year.  What  is  your  remark  on 
that  proportion?'  And  my  remark  was — for  I  couldn't  think 
of  a  better  one — that  I  thought  it  must  be  just  as  hard  upon 
those  who  were  starved,  whether  the  others  were  a  million,  or 
a  million  million.  And  that  was  wrong,  too." 

"  Of  course  it  was." 

"  Then  Mr.  M'Choakumchild  said  he  would  try  me  once  more. 
And  he  said  :  '  Here  are  the  stutterings — ' ' 

"  Statistics,"  said  Louisa. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Louisa — they  always  remind  me  of  stutterings, 
and  that's  another  of  my  mistakes  — '  of  accidents  upon  the  sea. 
And  I  find  (Mr.  M'Choakumchild  said)  that  in  a  given  time  a 
hundred  thousand  persons  went  to  sea  on  long  voyages,  and 
only  five  hundred  of  them  were  drowned  or  burnt  to  death. 
What  is  the  percentage  ? '  And  I  said,  Miss  "  (here  Sissy  fairly 
sobbed  as  confessing  with  extreme  contrition  to  her  greatest 
error),  "  I  said  it  was  nothing  —  " 

"Nothing,  Sissy?" 

"Nothing,  Miss, — to  the  relations  and  friends  of  the  people 
who  were  killed.  I  shall  never  learn,"  said  Sissy.  "  And  the 
worst  of  all  is,  that  although  my  poor  father  wished  me  so  much 
to  learn,  and  although  I  am  so  anxious  to  learn,  because  he 
wished  me  to,  I  am  afraid  I  don't  like  it." 

Louisa  stood  looking  at  the  pretty  modest  head,  as  it  drooped 
abashed  before  her,  until  it  was  raised  again  to  glance  at  her 
face.  Then  she  asked : 

"  Did  your  father  know  so  much  himself,  that  he  wished  you 
to  be  well  taught  too,  Sissy  ?  " 

Sissy  hesitated  before  replying,  and  so  plainly  showed  her 


GRADGRINb  SYSffiM  6$  EDUCATION 

sense  that  they  were  entering  on  forbidden  ground,  that  Louisa 
added,  "  No  one  hears  us ;  and  if  any  one  did,  I  am  sure  no 
harm  could  be  found  in  such  an  innocent  question. " 

"  No,  Miss  Louisa,"  answered  Sissy,  upon  this  encouragement, 
shaking  her  head ;  "  Father  knows  very  little  indeed.  It's  as 
much  as  he  can  do  to  write ;  and  it's  more  than  people  in  general 
can  do  to  read  his  writing.  Though  it's  plain  to  me." 

"Your  mother?" 

"  Father  says  she  was  quite  a  scholar.  She  died  when  I  was 
born.  She  was — "  Sissy  made  the  terrible  communication  ner- 
vously—  "she  was  a  dancer." 

"  Did  your  father  love  her  ?  "  Louisa  asked  these  questions 
with  a  strong,  wild,  wandering  interest  peculiar  to  her  —  an 
interest  gone  astray  like  a  banished  creature,  and  hiding  in 
solitary  places. 

"  O  yes !  As  dearly  as  he  loves  me.  Father  loved  me,  first, 
for  her  sake.  He  carried  me  about  with  him  when  I  was  quite 
a  baby.  We  have  never  been  asunder  from  that  time." 

"  Yet  he  leaves  you  now,  Sissy  ?  " 

"Only  for  my  good.  Nobody  understands  him  as  I  do; 
nobody  knows  him  as  I  do.  When  he  left  me  for  my  good — 
he  never  would  have  left  me  for  his  own — I  knew  he  was  almost 
broken-hearted  with  the  trial.  He  will  not  be  happy  for  a  sin- 
gle minute,  till  he  comes  back." 

"  Tell  me  more  about  him,"  said  Louisa,  "  I  will  never  ask 
you  again.  Where  did  you  live?  " 

"  We  traveled  about  the  country,  and  had  no  fixed  place  to 
live  in.  Father's  a — "  Sissy  whispered  the  awful  word  —  "a 
clown." 

"  To  make  the  people  laugh  ?  "  said  Louisa,  with  a  nod  of  in- 
telligence. 

"  Yes.  But  they  wouldn't  laugh  sometimes,  and  then  father 
cried.  Lately,  they  very  often  wouldn't  laugh,  and  he  used  to 
come  home  despairing.  Father's  not  like  most.  Those  who 
didn't  know  him  as  well  as  I  do,  and  didn't  love  him  as  dearly 
as  I  do,  might  believe  he  was  not  quite  right.  Sometimes  they 


362  CHARLES  DICKENS 

played  tricks  upon  him ;  but  they  never  knew  how  he  felt  them, 
and  shrunk  up,  when  he  was  alone  Avith  me.  He  was  far,  far 
timider  than  they  thought ! " 

"  And  you  were  his  comfort,  through  everything  ?  " 

She  nodded,  with  the  tears  rolling  down  her  face.  "  I  hope 
so,  and  Father  said  I  was.  It  was  because  he  grew  so  scared 
and  trembling,  and  because  he  felt  himself  to  be  a  poor,  weak, 
ignorant,  helpless  man  (those  used  to  be  his  words),  that  he 
wanted  me  so  much  to  know  a  great  deal,  and  be  different  from 
him.  I  used  to  read  to  him  to  cheer  his  courage,  and  he  was 
very  fond  of  that.  They  were  wrong  books — I  am  never  to 
speak  of  them  here — but  we  didn't  know  there  was  any  harm 
in  them." 

"  And  he  liked  them  ? "  said  Louisa,  with  a  searching  gaze 
on  Sissy  all  this  time. 

"  O  very  much !  They  kept  him,  many  times,  from  what 
did  him  real  harm.  And  often  and  often  of  a  night,  he  used 
to  forget  all  his  troubles  in  wondering  whether  the  Sultan 
would  let  the  lady  go  on  with  the  story,  or  would  have  her 
head  cut  off  before  it  was  finished." 

"  And  your  father  was  always  kind  ?  To  the  last  ?  "  asked 
Louisa ;  contravening  the  great  principle,  and  wondering  very 
much. 

"  Always,   always ! "    returned   Sissy,   clasping   her    hands. 
"  Kinder  and  kinder  than  I  can  tell.     He  was  angry  only  one 
night,  and  that  was  not  to  me,  but  Merrylegs.     Merrylegs-— 
si i(3  whispered  the  awful  fact — "  is  his  performing  dog." 

"  Why  was  he  angry  with  the  dog  ?  "  Louisa  demanded. 

"  Father,  soon  after  they  came  home  from  performing,  told 
Merrylegs  to  jump  up  on  the  backs  of  the  two  chairs  and  stand 
across  them  —  which  is  one  of  his  tricks.  He  looked  at  Father, 
and  didn't  do  it  at  once.  Everything  of  Father's  had  gone 
wrong  that  night,  and  he  hadn't  pleased  the  public  at  all.  He 
cried  out  that  the  very  dog  knew  he  was  failing,  and  had  no 
compassion  on  him.  Then  he  beat  the  dog,  and  I  was  fright- 
ened, and  said,  '  Father,  Father !  Pray,  don't  hurt  the  creature 


THE  GRADGB1ND  SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION  363 

who  is  so  fond  of  you !  O  Heaven  forgive  you,  Father,  stop  ! ' 
And  he  stopped,  and  the  dog  was  bloody,  and  father  lay  down 
crying  on  the  floor  with  the  dog  in  his  arms,  and  the  dog 
licked  his  face." 

Louisa  saw  that  she  was  sobbing ;  and  going  to  her,  kissed 
her,  took  her  hand,  and  sat  down  beside  her. 

"  Finish  by  telling  me  how  your  father  left  you,  Sissy.  Now 
that  I  have  asked  you  so  much,  tell  me  the  end.  The  blame, 
if  there  is  any  blame,  is  mine,  not  yours." 

"  Dear  Miss  Louisa,"  said  Sissy,  covering  her  eyes,  and  sob- 
bing yet ;  "  I  came  home  from  the  school  that  afternoon,  and 
found  poor  Father  just  come  home  too,  from  the  booth.  And 
he  sat  rocking  himself  over  the  fire,  as  if  he  was  in  pain.  And 
I  said,  '  Have  you  hurt  yourself,  Father  ? '  (as  he  did  some- 
times, like  they  all  did),  and  he  said,  '  A  little,  my  darling.' 
And  when  I  came  to  stoop  down  and  look  up  at  his  face,  I  saw 
that  he  was  crying.  The  more  I  spoke  to  him,  the  more  he 
hid  his  face ;  and  at  first  he  shook  all  over,  and  said  nothing 
but  '  My  darling,'  and  '  My  love  ! ' ' 

Here  Tom  came  lounging  in,  and  stared  at  the  two  with  a 
coolness  not  particularly  savoring  of  interest  in  anything  but 
himself,  and  not  much  of  that  at  present. 

"  I  am  asking  Sissy  a  few  questions,  Tom,"  observed  his 
sister.  "  You  have  no  occasion  to  go  away ;  but  don't  inter- 
rupt us  for  a  moment,  Tom  dear." 

"  Oh  !  very  well !  "  returned  Tom.  "  Only  Father  has 
brought  old  Bounderby  home,  and  I  want  you  to  come  into 
the  drawing-room.  Because  if  you  come,  there's  a  good 
chance  of  old  Bounderby's  asking  me  to  dinner;  and  if  you 
don't,  there's  none." 

"I'll  come  directly." 

"  I'll  wait  for  you,"  said  Tom,  "  to  make  sure." 

Sissy  resumed  in  a  lower  voice.  "  At  last  poor  Father  said 
that  he  had  given  no  satisfaction  again,  and  never  did  give  any 
satisfaction  now,  and  that  he  was  a  shame  and  disgrace,  and  I 
should  have  done  better  without  him  all  along.  I  said  all  the 


364  CHARLES  DICKENS 

affectionate  things  to  him  that  came  into  my  heart,  and  pres- 
ently he  was  quiet  and  I  sat  down  by  him,  and  told  him  all 
about  the  school  and  everything  that  had  been  said  and  done 
there.  When  I  had  no  more  left  to  tell,  he  put  his  arms  round 
my  neck,  and  kissed  me  a  great  many  times.  Then  he  asked 
me  to  fetch  some  of  the  stuff  he  used,  for  the  little  hurt  he  had 
had,  and  to  get  it  at  the  best  place,  whicl^  was  at  the  other  end  of 
town  from  there ;  and  then,  after  kissing  me  again,  he  let  me 
go.  When  I  had  gone  down  stairs,  I  turned  back  that  I  might 
be  a  little  bit  more  company  to  him  yet,  and  looked  in  at  the 
door,  and  said,  '  Father  dear,  shall  I  take  Merrylegs  ?  '  Father 
shook  his  head  and  said,  *  No,  Sissy,  no ;  take  nothing  that's 
known  to  be  mine,  my  darling ; '  and  I  left  him  sitting  by  the 
fire.  Then  the  thought  must  have  come  upon  him,  poor,  poor 
father !  of  going  away  to  try  something  for  my  sake ;  for  when 
I  came  back,  he  was  gone." 

"  I  say  !  Look  sharp  for  old  Bounderby,  Loo !  "  Tom  remon- 
strated. 

"  There's  no  more  to  tell,  Miss  Louisa.  I  keep  the  nine  oils 
ready  for  him,  and  I  know  he  will  come  back.  Every  letter 
that  I  see  in  Mr.  Gradgrind's  hand  takes  my  breath  away  and 
blinds  my  eyes,  for  I  think  it  comes  from  father,  or  from  Mr. 
Sleary  about  father.  Mr.  Sleary  promised  to  write  as  soon  as 
ever  father  should  be  heard  of,  and  I  trust  to  him  to  keep  his 
word." 

"  Do  look  sharp  for  old  Bounderby,  Loo  !  "  said  Tom,  with  an 
impatient  whistle.  "  He'll  be  off  if  you  don't  look  sharp  !  " 

After  this,  whenever  Sissy  dropped  a  courtesy  to  Mr.  Gradgrind 
in  the  presence  of  his  family,  and  said  in  a  faltering  way,  —  "I 
beg  your  pardon,  sir,  for  being  troublesome — but — have  you 
had  any  letter  yet  about  me  ?  " —  Louisa  would  suspend  the  occu- 
pation of  the  moment,  whatever  it  was,  and  look  for  the  reply 
as  earnestly  as  Sissy  did.  And  when  Mr.  Gradgrind  regularly 
answered,  "  No,  Jupe,  nothing  of  the  sort,"  the  trembling  of 
Sissy's  lip  would  be  repeated  in  Louisa's  face,  and  her  eyes 
would  follow  Sissy  with  compassion  to  the  door.  Mr.  Gradgrind 


THE  GRADGRIND   SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION  365 

usually  improved  these  occasions  by  remarking,  when  she  was 
gone,  that  if  Jupe  had  been  properly  trained  from  an  early  age 
she  would  have  demonstrated  to  herself  on  sound  principles  the 
baselessness  of  these  fantastic  hopes.  Yet  it  did  seem  (though 
not  to  him,  for  he  saw  nothing  of  it )  as  if  fantastic  hope  could 
take  as  strong  a  hold  as  Fact. 

This  observation  must  be  limited  exclusively  to  his  daughter. 
As  to  Tom,  he  was  becoming  that  not  unprecedented  triumph  of 
calculation,  which  is  usually  at  work  on  number  one.  As  to 
Mrs.  Gradgrind,  if  she  said  anything  on  the  subject,  she  would 
come  a  little  way  out  of  her  wrappers,  like  a  feminine  dormouse, 
and  say : 

"Good  gracious  bless  me,  how  my  poor  head  is  vexed  and 
worried  by  that  girl  Jupe's  so  perseveringly  asking,  over  and  over 
again,  about  her  tiresome  letters !  Upon  my  word  and  honor 
I  seem  to  be  fated  and  destined  and  ordained  to  live  in  the 
midst  of  things  that  I  am  never  to  hear  the  last  of.  It  really 
is  a  most  extraordinary  circumstance  that  it  appears  as  if  I  never 
was  to  hear  the  last  of  anything  !  " 

At  about  this  point,  Mr.  Gradgrind's  eye  would  fall  upon 
her,  and  under  the  influence  of  that  wintry  piece  of  fact, 
she  would  become  torpid  again. 

X.     THE  GREAT  MANUFACTURER 

Time  went  on  in  Coketown  like  its  own  machinery.  So  much 
material  wrought  up,  so  much  fuel  consumed,  so  many  powers 
worn  out,  so  much  money  made.  But,  less  inexorable  than 
iron,  steel,  and  brass,  it  brought  its  varying  seasons  even  into 
that  wilderness  of  smoke  and  brick,  and  made  the  only  stand 
that  ever  was  made  in  the  place  against  its  direful  uni- 
formity. 

"  Louisa  is  becoming,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  "  almost  a  young 
woman." 

Time,  with  his  innumerable  horse-power,  worked  away,  not 
minding  what  anybody  said,  and  presently  turned  out  young 


366  CHARLES  DICKENS 

Thomas  a  foot  taller  than  when  his  father  had  last  taken  par- 
ticular notice  of  him. 

"Thomas  is  becoming,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  "almost  a 
young  man." 

Time  passed  Thomas  on  in  the  mill,  while  his  father  was 
thinking  about  it,  and  there  he  stood  in  a  long-tailed  coat  and 
a  stiff  shirt  collar. 

"  Really,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  "  the  period  has  arrived  when 
Thomas  ought  to  go  to  Bounderby." 

Time,  sticking  to  him,  passed  him  on  into  Bounderby's  Bank, 
made  him  an  inmate  of  Bounderby's  house,  necessitated  the 
purchase  of  his  first  razor,  and  exercised  him  diligently  in  his 
calculations  relative  to  number  one. 

The  same  great  manufacturer,  always  with  an  immense 
variety  of  work  on  hand,  in  every  stage  of  development,  passed 
Sissy  onward  in  his  mill,  and  worked  her  up  into  a  very  pretty 
article  indeed. 

"  I  fear,  Jupe,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  "  that  your  continuance 
at  the  school  any  longer  would  be  useless." 

"I  am  afraid  it  would,  Sir,"  Sissy  answered  with  a  cour- 
tesy. 

"  I  cannot  disguise  from  you,  Jupe,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind, 
knitting  his  brow,  "  that  the  result  of  your  probation  there  has 
disappointed  me  —  has  greatly  disappointed  me.  You  have  not 
acquired,  under  Mr.  and  Mrs.  M'Choakumchild,  anything  like 
that  amount  of  exact  knowledge  which  I  looked  for.  You  are 
extremely  deficient  in  your  facts.  Your  acquaintance  with 
figures  is  very  limited.  You  are  altogether  backward,  and 
below  the  mark." 

"  I  am  sorry,;-Sir,"  she  returned ;  "  but  I  know  it  is  quite 
true.  Yet  I  have  tried  hard,  Sir." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  "yes,  I  believe  you  have  tried 
hard ;  I  have  observed  you,  and  I  can  find  no  fault  in  that 
respect." 

"  Thank  you,  Sir.  I  have  thought  sometimes  "  (Sissy  very 
timid  here)  "  that  perhaps  I  tried  to  learn  too  much,  and  that 


THE  GRADGEIND  SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION  367 

if   I   had   asked   to  be  allowed  to  try  a  little  less,  I  might 
have  —  " 

"No,  Jupe,  no,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  shaking  his  head  in  his 
profoundest  and  most  eminently  practical  way.  "  No.  The 
course  you  pursued,  you  pursued  according  to  the  system  — 
the  system,  —  and  there  is  no  more  to  be  said  about  it.  I  can 
only  suppose  that  the  circumstances  of  your  early  life  were  too 
unfavorable  to  the  development  of  your  reasoning  powers,  and 
that  we  began  too  late.  Still,  as  I  have  said  already,  I  am  dis- 
appointed." 

"  I  wish  I  could  have  made  a  better  acknowledgment,  Sir,  of 
your  kindness  to  a  poor  forlorn  girl  who  had  no  claim  upon 
you,  and  of  your  protection  of  her." 

"Don't  shed  tears,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind.  "Don't  shed 
tears.  I  don't  complain  of  you.  You  are  an  affectionate, 
earnest,  good  young  woman  —  and  —  and  we  must  make 
that  do." 

"Thank  you,  Sir,  very  much,"  said  Sissy,  with  a  grateful 
courtesy. 

"You  are  useful  to  Mrs.  Gradgrind,  and  (in  a  generally  per- 
vading way)  yout  are  serviceable  in  the  family  also;  so  I  un- 
derstand from  Miss  Louisa,  and,  indeed,  so  I  have  observed 
myself.  I  therefore  hope,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  "that  you  can 
make  yourself  happy  in  those  relations." 

"I  should  have  nothing  to  wish,  Sir,  if  —  " 

"I  understand  you,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind;  "you  still  refer  to 
your  father.  I  have  heard  from  Miss  Louisa  that  you  still  pre- 
serve that  bottle.  Well!  If  your  training  in  the  science  of 
arriving  at  exact  results  had  been  more  successful,  you  would 
have  been  wiser  on  these  points.  I  will  say  no  more." 

He  really  liked  Sissy  too  well  to  have  a  contempt  for  her; 
otherwise  he  held  her  calculating  powers  in  such  very  slight 
estimation  that  he  must  have  fallen  upon  that  conclusion. 
Somehow  or  other,  he  had  become  possessed  of  an  idea  that 
there  was  something  in  this  girl  which  could  hardly  be  set 
forth  in  a  tabular  form.  Her  capacity  of  definition  might  be 


368  CHARLES  DICKENS 

easily  stated  at  a  very  low  figure,  her  mathematical  knowledge 
at  nothing ;  yet  he  was  not  sure  that  if  he  had  been  required, 
for  example,  to  tick  her  off  into  columns  in  a  parliamentary 
return,  he  would  have  quite  known  how  to  divide  her. 

In  some  stages  of  his  manufacture  of  the  human  fabric,  the 
processes  of  time  are  very  rapid.  Young  Thomas  and  Sissy 
being  both  at  such  a  stage  of  their  working  up,  these  changes 
were  effected  in  a  year  or  two;  while  Mr.  Gradgrind  himself 
seemed  stationary  in  his  course,  and  underwent  no  altera- 
tion. 

Except  one,  which  was  apart  from  his  necessary  progress 
through  the  mill.  Time  hustled  him  into  a  little  noisy  and 
rather  dirty  machinery,  in  a  by-corner,  and  made  him  Member 
of  Parliament  for  Coketown — one  of  the  respected  members 
for  ounce  weights  and  measures,  one  of  the  representatives  of 
the  multiplication  table,  one  of  the  deaf  honorable  gentlemen, 
dumb  honorable  gentlemen,  blind  honorable  gentlemen,  lame 
honorable  gentlemen,  dead  honorable  gentlemen,  to  every  other 
consideration.  Else  wherefore  live  we  in  a  Christian  land, 
eighteen  hundred  and  odd  years  after  our  Master? 

All  this  while,  Louisa  had  been  passing  on,  so  quiet  and 
reserved,  and  so  much  given  to  watching  the  bright  ashes  at 
twilight  as  they  fell  into  the  grate  and  became  extinct,  that 
from  the  period  when  her  father  had  said  she  was  almost  a 
young  woman  —  which  seemed  but  yesterday  —  she  had  scarcely 
attracted  his  notice  again,  when  he  found  her  quite  a  young 
woman. 

"Quite  a  young  woman,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  musing. 
"Dear  me!" 

Soon  after  this  discovery,  he  became  more  thoughtful  than 
usual  for  several  days,  and  seemed  much  engrossed  by  one  sub- 
ject. On  a  certain  night,  when  he  was  going  out,  and  Louisa 
came  to  bid  him  good-by  before  his  departure  —  as  he  was  not 
to  be  home  until  late  and  she  would  not  see  him  again  until 
the  morning  —  he  held  her  in  his  arms,  looking  at  her  in  his 
kindest  manner,  and  said; 


THE  GRADGRIND   SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION  309 

"  My  dear  Louisa,  you  are  a  woman !  " 

She  answered  with  the  old,  quick,  searching  look  of  the  night 
when  she  was  found  at  the  circus ;  then  cast  down  her  eyes. 
"Yes,  Father." 

"My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  "I  must  speak  with  you 
alone  and  seriously.  Come  to  me  in  my  room  after  breakfast 
to-morrow,  will  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  Father." 

"  Your  hands  are  rather  cold,  Louisa.  Are  you  not 
well?" 

"Quite  well,  Father." 

"And  cheerful?" 

She  looked  at  him  again,  and  smiled  in  her  peculiar  manner. 
"I  am  as  cheerful,  Father,  as  I  usually  am,  or  usually  have 
been." 

"That's  well,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind.  So  he  kissed  her  and 
went  away;  and  Louisa  returned  to  the  serene  apartment  of 
the  hair-cutting  character,  and  leaning  her  elbow  on  her  hand, 
looked  again  at  the  short-lived  sparks  that  so  soon  subsided 
into  ashes. 

"Are  you  there,  Loo?"  said  her  brother,  looking  in  at  the 
door.  He  was  quite  a  young  gentleman  of  pleasure  now,  and 
not  quite  a  prepossessing  one. 

"Dear  Tom,"  she  answered,  rising  and  embracing  him, 
"how  long  it  is  since  you  have  been  to  see  me!  " 

"  Why,  I  have  been  otherwise  engaged,  Loo,  in  the  evenings ; 
and  in  the  daytime  old  Bounderby  has  been  keeping  me  at  it 
rather.  But  I  touch  him  up  with  you  when  he  comes  it  too 
strong,  and  so  we  preserve  an  understanding.  I  say!  Has 
Father  said  anything  particular  to  you  to-day  or  yesterday, 
Loo?" 

"  No,  Tom.  But  he  told  me  to-night  that  he  wished  to  do 
so  in  the  morning." 

"Ah!  That's  what  I  mean,"  said  Tom.  "Do  you  know 
Where  he  is  to-night?"  —  with  a  very  deep  expression. 

"No." 

SCH.    IN  COM.  24 


370  CHARLES    DICKENS 

"Then  I'll,  tell  you.  He's  with  old  Bounderby.  They  are 
having  a  regular  confab  together  up  at  the  Bank.  Why  at  the 
Bank,  do  you  think?  Well,  I'll  tell  you  again.  To  keep 
Mrs.  Sparsit's  ears  as  far  off  as  possible,  I  expect." 

With  her  hand  upon  her  brother's  shoulder,  Louisa  still 
stdod  looking  at  the  fire.  Her  brother  glanced  at  her  face  with 
greater  interest  than  usual,  and  .encircling  her  waist  with  his 
arm,  drew  her  coaxingly  to  him. 

"You  are  very  fond  of  me,  ain't  you,  Loo?" 

"  Indeed  I  am,  Tom,  though  you  do  let  such  long  intervals 
go  by  without  coming  to  see  me." 

"Well,  sister  of  mine,"  said  Tom,  "when  you  say  that,  you 
are  near  my  thoughts.  We  might  be  so  much  oftener  together 
—  mightn't  we?  Always  together,  almost  —  mightn't  we?  It 
would  do  me  a  great  deal  of  good  if  you  were  to  make  up  your 
mind  to  I  know  what,  Loo.  It  would  be  a  splendid  thing  for 
me.  It  would  be  uncommonly  jolly!  " 

Her  thoughtfulness  baffled  his  cunning  scrutiny.  He  could 
make  nothing  of  her  face.  He  pressed  her  in  his  arm,  and 
kissed  her  cheek.  She  returned  the  kiss,  but  still  looked  at 
the  fire. 

"I  say,  Loo!  I  thought  I'd  come,  and  just  hint  to  you  what 
was  going  on,  though  I  supposed  you'd  most  likely  guess, 
even  if  you  didn't  know.  I  can't  stay,  because  I'm  engaged 
to  some  fellows  to-night.  You  won't  forget  how  fond  you  are 
of  me?" 

"No,  dear  Tom,  I  won't  forget." 

"That's  a  capital  girl,"  said  Tom.     "Good-by,  Loo." 

She  gave  him  an  affectionate  good-night,  and  went  out  with 
him  to  the  door,  whence  the  fires  of  Coketown  could  be  seen, 
making  the  distance  lurid.  She  stood  there,  looking  stead- 
fastly towards  them,  and  listening  to  his  departing  steps. 
They  retreated  quickly,  a^>  glad  to  get  away  from  Stone  Lodge ; 
and  she  stood  there  yet,  when  he  was  gone  and  all  was  quiet. 
It  seemed  as  if,  first  in  her  own  fire  within  the  house,  and  then 
in  the  fiery  haze  without,  she  tried  to  discover  what  kind  of 


THE    GRADGBIND    SYSTEM    OF    EDUCATION  371 

woof  Old  Time,  that  greatest  and  longest-established  spinner 
of  all,  would  weave  from  the  threads  he  had  already  spun  into 
a  woman.  But  his  factory  is  a  secret  place,  his  work  is  noise- 
less, and  his  hands  are  mutes. 

XI.   FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER 

Although  Mr.  Gradgrind  did  not  take  after  Bluebeard, 
his  room  was  quite  a  blue  chamber  in  its  abundance  of  blue 
books.  Whatever  they  could  prove  (which  is  usually  anything 
you  like),  they  proved  there,  in  an  army  constantly  strength- 
ening by  the  arrival  of  new  recruits.  In  that  charmed  apart- 
ment, the  most  complicated  social  questions  were  cast  up,  got 
into  exact  totals,  and  finally  settled  —  if  those  concerned  could 
only  have  been  brought  to  know  it.  As  if  an  astronomical 
observatory  should  be  made  without  any  windows,  and  the 
astronomer  within  should  arrange  the  starry  universe  solely  by 
pen,  ink,  and  paper,  so  Mr.  Gradgrind,  in  his  Observatory 
(and  there  are  many  like  it),  had  no  need  to  cast  an  eye  upon 
the  teeming  myriads  of  human  beings  around  him,  but  could 
settle  all  their  destinies  on  a  slate,  and  wipe  out  all  their  tears 
with  one  dirty  little  bit  of  sponge. 

To  this  Observatory,  then,  a  stern  room,  with  a  deadly  sta- 
tistical clock  in  it,  which  measured  every  second  with  a  beat 
like  a  rap  upon  a  coffin  lid,  Louisa  repaired  on  the  appointed 
morning.  A  window  looked  towards  Coketown ;  and  when  she 
sat  down  near  her  father's  table,  she  saw  the  high  chimneys 
and  the  long  tracts  of  smoke  looming  in  the  heavy  distance 
gloomily. 

"My  dear  Louisa,"  said  her  father,  "I  prepared  you  last 
night  to  give  me  your  serious  attention  in  the  conversation  we 
are  now  going  to  have  together.  You  have  been  so  well  trained, 
and  you  do,  I  am  happy  to  say,  so  much  justice  to  the  educa- 
tion you  have  received,  that  I  have  perfect  confidence  in  your 
good  sense.  You  are  not  impulsive,  you  are  not  romantic,  you 
are  accustomed  to  view  everything  from  the  strong,  dispassiou- 


372  CHAELES    DICKENS 

ate  ground  of  reason  and  calculation.  From  that  ground  alone, 
I  know  you  will  view  and  consider  what  I  am  going  to  com- 
municate." 

He  waited,  as  if  he  would  have  been  glad  that  she  said  some- 
thing. But  she  said  never  a  word. 

"  Louisa,  my  dear,  you  are  the  subject  of  a  proposal  of  mar- 
riage that  has  been  made  to  me." 

Again  he  waited,  and  again  she  answered  not  one  word. 
This  so  far  surprised  him,  as  to  induce  him  gently  to  repeat, 
"a  proposal  of  marriage,  my  dear."  To  which  she  returned, 
without  any  visible  emotion  whatever: 

"I  hear  you,  Father.     I  am  attending,  I  assure  you." 

"Well!"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  breaking  into  a  smile,  after 
being  for  the  moment  at  a  loss,  "you  are  even  more  dispas- 
sionate than  I  expected,  Louisa.  Or,  perhaps,  you  are  not 
unprepared  for  the  announcement  I  have  it  in  charge  to 
make?" 

"  I  cannot  say  that,  Father,  until  I  hear  it.  Prepared  or  un- 
prepared, I  wish  to  hear  it  all  from  you.  I  wish  to  'hear  you 
state  it  to  me,  Father." 

Strange  to  relate,  Mr.  Gradgrind  was  not  so  collected  at  this 
moment  as  his  daughter  was.  He  took  a  paper  knife  in  his 
hand,  turned  it  over,  laid  it  down,  took  it  up  again,  and  even 
then  had  to  look  along  the  blade  of  it,  considering  how  to 
go  on. 

"  What  you  say,  my  dear  Louisa,  is  perfectly  reasonable.  I 
have  undertaken  then  to  let  you  know  that  —  in  short,  that 
Mr.  Bounderby  has  informed  me  that  he  has  long  watched  your 
progress  with  particular  interest  and  pleasure,  and  has  long 
hoped  that  the  time  might  ultimately  arrive  when  he  should 
offer  you  his  hand  in  marriage.  That  time,  to  which  he  has  so 
long,  and  certainly  with  great  constancy,  looked  forward,  is 
now  come.  Mr.  Bounderby  has  made  his  proposal  of  marriage 
to  me,  and  has  entreated  me  to  make  it  known  to  you,  and  to 
express  his  hope  that  you  will  take  it  into  your  favorable  con- 
sideration." 


THE    GUADGRIND    STSTEM    OF   EDUCATION  373 

Silence  between  them.  The  deadly  statistical  clock  very 
hollow.  The  distant  smoke  very  black  and  heavy. 

"Father,"  said  Louisa,  "do  you  think  I  love  Mr.  Boun- 
derby?" 

Mr.  Gradgrind  was  extremely  discomfited  by  this  unexpected 
question.  "Well,  my  child,"  he  returned,  "I  —  really  —  can- 
not take  upon  myself  to  say." 

"Father,"  pursued  Louisa  in  exactly  the  same  voice  as  be- 
fore, "do  you  ask  me  to  love  Mr.  Bounderby?" 

"My  dear  Louisa,  no.  •  No.     I  ask  nothing." 

"Father, "she  still  pursued,  "does  Mr.  Bouriderby  ask  me 
to  love  him  ?  " 

"Really,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  "it  is  difficult  to 
answer  your  question  —  " 

"Difficult  to  answer  it,  'Yes  '  or  'No,'  father?" 

"Certainly,  my  dear.  Because" — here  was  something  to 
demonstrate,  and  it  set  him  up  again  —  "  because  the  reply  de- 
pends so  materially,  Louisa,  on  the  sense  in  which  we  use  the 
expression.  Now,  Mr.  Bounderby  does  not  do  you  the  injus- 
tice, and  does  not  do  himself  the  injustice,  of  pretending  to 
anything  fanciful,  fantastic,  or  (I  am  using  the  synonymous 
terms)  sentimental.  Mr.  Bounderby  would  have  seen  you 
grow  up  under  his  eyes,  to  very  little  purpose,  if  he  could  so 
far  forget  what  is  due  to  your  good  sense,  not  to  say  to  his,  as 
to  address  you  from  any  such  ground.  Therefore,  perhaps  the 
expression  itself  —  I  merely  suggest  this  to  you,  my  dear  — 
may  be  a  little  misplaced." 

"What  would  you  advise  me  to  use  in  its  stead,  Father?" 

"Why,  my  dear  Louisa,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  completely 
recovered  by  this  time,  "I  would  advise  you  (since  you  ask 
me)  to  consider  this  question,  as  you  have  been  accustomed  to 
consider  every  other  question,  simply  as  one  of  tangible  Fact. 
The  ignorant  and  the  giddy  may  embarrass  such  subjects  with 
irrelevant  fancies,  and  other  absurdities  that  have  no  exist- 
ence, properly  viewed  —  really  no  existence  —  but  it  is  no  com- 
pliment to  you  to  say  that  you  know  better.  Now,  what  are 


374  CHARLES    DICKENS 

the  Facts  of  this  case  ?  You  are,  we  will  say  in  round  numbers, 
twenty  years  of  age ;  Mr.  Bounderby  is,  we  will  say  in  round 
numbers,  fifty.  There  is  some  disparity  in  your  respective 
years,  but  in  your  means  and  positions  there  is  none ;  on  the 
contrary,  there  is  a  great  suitability.  Then  the  question 
arises  !  Is  this  one  disparity  sufficient  to  operate  as  a  bar  to  such 
a  marriage?  In  considering  this  question,  it  is  not  unimpor- 
tant to  take  into  account  the  statistics  of  marriage,  so  far  as 
they  have  yet  been  obtained,  in  England  and  Wales.  I  find, 
on  reference  to  the  figures,  that  a  targe  proportion  of  these 
marriages  are  contracted  between  parties  of  very  unequal  ages, 
and  that  the  elder  of  these  contracting  parties  is,  in  rather  more 
than  three  fourths  of  these  instances,  the  bridegroom.  It  is 
remarkable  as  showing  the  wide  prevalence  of  this  law,  that 
among  the  natives  of  the  British  possessions  in  India,  also  in 
a  considerable  part  of  China,  and  among  the  Calmucks  of  Tar- 
tary,  the  best  means  of  computation  yet  furnished  us  by  trav- 
elers, yield  similar  results.  The  disparity  I  have  mentioned, 
therefore,  almost  ceases  to  be  disparity,  and  (virtually)  all  but 
disappears." 

"What  do  you  recommend,  Father,"  asked  Louisa,  her  re- 
served composure  not  in  the  least  affected  by  these  gratifying 
results,  "  that  I  should  substitute  for  the  term  I  used  just  now  ? 
For  the  misplaced  expression  ?  " 

"Louisa,"  returned  her  father,  "it  appears  to  me  that  noth- 
ing can  be  plainer.  Confining  yourself  rigidly  to  Fact,  the 
question  of  Fact  you  state  to  yourself  is,  Does  Mr.  Bounderby 
ask  me  to  marry  him?  Yes,  he  does.  The  sole  remaining 
question  then  is,  Shall  I  marry  him?  I  think  nothing  can  be 
plainer  than  that?" 

"  Shall  I  marry  him  ?  "  repeated  Louisa,  with  great  delibera- 
tion. 

"  Precisely.  And  it  is  satisfactory  to  me,  as  your  father,  my 
dear  Louisa,  to  know  that  you  do  not  come  to  the  consideration 
of  that  question  with  the  previous  habits  of  mind,  and  habits 
of  life,  that  belong  to  many  young  women." 


THE  GRADGRIND   SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION  375 

"No,  Father,"  she  returned,  "I  do  not." 

"I  now  leave  you  to  judge  for  yourself ," said  Mr.  Gradgrind. 
"  I  have  stated  the  case,  as  such  cases  are  usually  stated  among 
practical  minds;  I  have  stated  it  as  the  case  of  your  mother 
and  myself  was  stated  in  its  time.  The  rest,  my  dear  Louisa, 
is  for  you  to  decide." 

From  the  beginning,  she  had  sat  looking  at  him  fixedly.  As 
he  now  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  bent  his  deep-set  eyes 
upon  her  in  his  turn,  perhaps  he  might  have  seen  one  waver- 
ing moment  in  her,  when  she  was  impelled  to  throw  herself 
upon  his  breast,  and  give  him  the  pent-up  confidences  of  her 
heart.  But,  to  see  it,  he  must  have  overleaped  at  a  bound  the 
artificial  barriers  he  had  for  many  years  been  erecting,  between 
himself  and  all  those  subtle  essences  of  humanity  which  will 
elude  the  utmost  cunning  of  algebra  until  the  last  trumpet  ever 
to  be  sounded  shall  blow  even  algebra  to  wreck.  The  barriers 
were  too  many  and  too  high  for  such  a  leap.  With  his  un- 
bending, utilitarian,  matter-of-fact  face,  he  hardened  her  again ; 
and  the  moment  shot  away  into  the  plumbless  depths  of  the 
past,  to  mingle  with  all  the  lost  opportunities  that  are  drowned 
there. 

Removing  her  eyes  from  him,  she  sat  so  long  looking  silently 
towards  the  town,  that  he  said,  at  length :  "  Are  you  consult- 
ing the  chimneys  of  the  Coketown  works,  Louisa?" 

"  There  seems  to  be  nothing  there  but  languid  and  monoto- 
nous smoke.  Yet  when  the  night  comes,  fire  bursts  out, 
Father  !  "  she  answered/  turning  quickly. 

"  Of  course  I  know  that,  Louisa.  I  do  not  see  the  applica- 
tion of  the  remark."  To  do  him  justice  he  did  not,  at  all. 

She  passed  it  away  with  a  slight  motion  of  her  hand,  and 
concentrating  her  attention  upon  him  again,  said,  "Father,  I 
have  often  thought  that  life  is  very  short."  —  This  was  so 
distinctly  one  of  his  subjects  that  he  interposed. 

"It  is  short,  no  doubt,  my  dear.  Still,  the  average  duration 
of  human  life  is  proved  to  have  increased  of  late  years.  The 
calculations  of  various  life  assurance  and  annuity  offices,  among 


376  CHARLES  DICKENS 

other  figures  which  cannot  go  wrong,  have  established  the 
fact." 

"I  speak  of  my  own  life,  Father." 

"O  indeed?  Still,"  said  Mr.  Gradgrind,  "I  need  not  point 
out  to  you,  Louisa,  that  it  is  governed  by  the  laws  which 
govern  lives  in  the  aggregate." 

"  While  it  lasts,  I  would  wish  to  do  the  little  I  can,  and  the 
little  I  am  fit  for.  What  does  it  matter?" 

Mr.  Gradgrind  seemed  rather  at  a  loss  to  understand  the  last 
four  words;  replying,  "How  matter?  What  matter,  my 
dear?" 

"Mr.  Bounderby,"  she  went  on  in  a  steady,  straight  way, 
without  regarding  this,  "asks  me  to  marry  him.  The  question 
I  have  to  ask  myself  is,  shall  I  marry  him  ?  That  is  so,  Father, 
is  it  not?  You  have  told  me  so,  Father.  Have  you  not?" 

"Certainly,  my  dear." 

"  Let  it  be  so.  Since  Mr.  Bounderby  likes  to  take  me  thus,  I 
am  satisfied  to  accept  his  proposal.  Tell  him,  Father,  as  soon  as 
you  please,  that  this  was  my  answer.  Repeat  it,  word  for  word, 
if  you  can,  because  I  should  wish  him  to  know  what  I  said." 

"It  is  quite  right,  my  Dear,"  retorted  her  father  approvingly, 
"  to  be  exact.  I  will  observe  your  very  proper  request.  Have 
you  any  wish  in  reference  to  the  period  of  your  marriage,  my 
child?" 

"None,  Father.     What  does  it  matter  ?" 

Mr.  Gradgrind  had  drawn  his  chair  a  little  nearer  to  her,  and 
taken  her  hand.  But,  her  repetition  of  these  words  seemed  to 
strike  with  some  little  discord  on  his  ear.  He  paused  to  look 
at  her,  and,  still  holding  her  hand,  said: 

"  Louisa,  I  have  not  considered  it  essential  to  ask  you  one 
question,  because  the  possibility  implied  in  it  appeared  to  me 
to  be  too  remote.  But  perhaps  I  ought  to  do  so.  You  have 
never  entertained  in  secret  any  other  proposal?" 

"Father,"  she  returned,  almost  scornfully,  "what  other  pro- 
posal can  have  been  made  to  me?  Whom  have  I  seen?  Where 
have  I  been  ?  What  are  my  heart's  experiences  ?  " 


THE  GKADGS1ND  SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION  377 

"My  dear  Louisa,"  returned  Mr.  Gradgrind,  reassured  and 
satisfied.  "You  correct  me  justly.  I  merely  wished  to  dis- 
charge my  duty." 

"What  do  /know,  Father,"  said  Louisa  in  her  quiet  manner, 
"of  tastes  and  fancies,  of  aspirations  and  affections,  of  all  that 
part  of  my  nature  in  which  such  light  things  might  have,  been 
nourished?  What  escape  have  I  had  from  problems  that  could 
be  demonstrated  and  realities  that  could  be  grasped?"  As 
she  said  it,  she  unconsciously  closed  her  hand,  as  if  upon  a 
solid  object,  and  slowly  opened  it  as  though  she  were  releasing 
dust  or  ash. 

"My  Dear,"  assented  her  eminently  practical  parent,  "quite 
true,  quite  true." 

"Why,  Father,"  she  pursued,  "what  a  strange  question  to 
ask  me.  The  baby  preference  that  even  I  have  heard  of  as 
common  among  children  has  never  had  its  innocent  resting- 
place  in  my  breast.  You  have  been  so  careful  of  me  that  I 
never  had  a  child's  heart.  You  have  trained  me  so  well  that 
I  never  dreamed  a  child's  dream.  You  have  dealt  so  wisely 
with  me,  Father,  from  my  cradle  to  this  hour,  that  I  never  had 
a  child's  belief  or  a  child's  fear." 

Mr.  Gradgrind  was  quite  moved  by  his  success,  and  by  this 
testimony  to  it.  "My  dear  Louisa,"  said  he,  "you  abundantly 
repay  my  care.  Kiss  me,  my  dear  girl." 

So,  his  daughter  kissed  him.  Detaining  her  in  his  embrace, 
he  said,  "I  may  assure  you  now,  my  favorite  child,  that  I  am 
made  happy  by  the  sound  decision  at  which  you  have  arrived. 
Mr.  Bounderby  is  a  very  remarkable  man;  and  what  little 
disparity  can  be  said  to  exist  between  you  —  if  any  —  is  more 
than  counterbalanced  by  the  tone  your  mind  has  acquired.  It 
has  always  been  my  object  so  to  educate  you,  as  that  you  might, 
while  still  in  your  early  youth,  be  (if  I  may  so  express  my- 
self) almost  any  age.  Kiss  me  once  more,  Louisa.  Now,  let 
us  go  and  find  your  mother." 


VII 

GOGOL 

SAXE 
ROBERTSON 


NIKOLAI   VASSILIEVITCH    GOGOL 

THE   FATHER  OF  RUSSIAN   NOVELISTS 

AMONG  the  most  noted  names  in  the  literature  of  Russia  (with  which  we 
are  becoming  so  familiar  in  these  later  days)  is  that  of  Nikolai  Vassilievitch 
Gogol. 

He  was  born  in  1809,  at  Poltava,  in  Southern  Russia,  a  place  rendered 
famous  in  the  wars  of  Peter  the  Great.  Gogol's  father  was  a  military 
officer,  a  "  Regimental  Secretary "  of  the  Cossacks ;  and  the  son,  from  his 
earliest  years,  was  familiar  with  the  rigors  of  absolute  government,  military 
and  civil.  The  youth  was  prepared  for  college  at  the  Niejin  Gymnasium, 
and  at  the  age  of  twenty  years  was  admitted  to  the  University  of  St.  Peters- 
burg. At  the  same  time  he  published  a  poem  entitled  Italy,  and  an  Idyll. 
The  latter,  which  was  signed  "  V.  Alof,"  was  bitterly  condemned.  A  year 
later  he  struck  a  popular  chord  by  contributing  to  a  periodical  a  series  of 
sketches  of  real  life  entitled  Evenings  on  a  Farm  near  Dikanka.  To  these 
sketches  he  appended  the  pseudonym  "  Rudy  Panks." 

The  success  of  this  series  of  compositions  brought  him  early  recognition, 
and  he  planned  a  vast  History  of  Modern  Europe,  to  fill  fifteen  volumes,  also 
a  History  of  Little  Russia,  of  no  mean  proportions.  He  was  made  a  professor 
in  the  University,  where  he  proved  a  failure  after  a  short  experience. 

Resigning,  at  the  age  of  twenty-seven  years,  he  devoted  himself  to  liter- 
ature. It  was  a  precarious  calling.  The  blight  of  despotism  rested  on  all 
classes  in  his  country,  and  most  of  all  upon  the  defenseless  masses  of  the 
people.  To  attack  abuses  openly  would  lead  inevitably  to  banishment  and 
a  living  death  in  Siberia.  Yet  write  he  must,  for  he  had  a  mission.  With 
strange  daring  he  produced  under  a  pseudonym  a  play  in  which  the  odious 
officialism  of  the  Russian  inspectors  was  vividly  portrayed.  This  drama, 
The  Reviser  (government  inspector),  was  fiercely  condemned  by  the  officials 
whom  it  depicted.  Gogol  learned  caution.  His  future  criticisms  must  be 
veiled  under  forms  which  could  not  be  impeached.  Though  his  novel 
might  be  a  powerful  exposition  of  flagrant  wrong,  it  must  appear  to  be 
only  dull  and  stupid  and  pointless.  So  it  happens  that  Gogol's  great  works 
are  apparently  destitute  of  plot  or  of  character,  —  prosy,  humdrum,  tedious 
recitals  of  stupid  nothings,  though  they  bear  beneath  their  surface  the 
message  of  a  great  soul  to  his  nation  and  to  his  century. 

381 


382  NIKOLAI  VASSILIEV1TC11   GOGOL 

Gogol's  greatest  work  is  his  Mertvuiya  Dunhi,  or  Dead  Souls,1  which  was 
written  in  two  parts.  The  first  of  these  was  published  in  1842.  The  second 
was  written  in  later  years.  The  author's  spirit  of  unrest  was  manifested 
in  his  life,  as  well  as  in  his  writings.  He  spent  some  years  in  other  lands 
of  Southern  Europe.  He  made  a  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem  in  1848.  Four 
years  later  he  died  at  Moscow. 

Translations  from  the  Russian  tongue  are  not  apt  to  be  very  satisfactory. 
The  French  rendering  of  the  Dead  Souls  is  probably  the  best  reproduction 
of  the  novel  in  another  tongue.  But  there  is  much  of  delicate  insinuation 
and  suggestiveness  that  is  not  perceived  in  any  form  of  the  work  other 
than  the  Russian.  Gogol's  writings  will  probably  long  survive,  after  the 
conditions  which  called  them  forth  shall  have  passed  away  in  the  reorgani- 
zation of  Eastern  Europe.  The  author  is  intensely  in  earnest,  however 
dull  and  phlegmatic  he  may  seem.  His  pictures  of  life  are  worthy  of 
careful  study,  as  typifying  a  social  and  political  system  with  which  the 
spirit  of  our  age  is  at  war. 

"  The  steps  which  Gogol  took  indicated  the  direction  in  which  the  Rus- 
sian novel  was  destined  to  move.  In  his  excellent  book,  Le  Roman  Russe, 
Melchior  de  Vogue  quotes  a  statement  from  a  later  writer  that  they  all 
dated  from  Gogol's  Cloak.  This  Cloak  is  a  story  about  a  Department  clerk, 
and  the  author's  whole  art  is  devoted  to  representing  the  innocent  pettiness 
and  insignificance  of  the  poor  wretch,  whose  sole  interest  in  life  consists  in 
copying,  and  whose  sole  ambition  is  to  own  a  new  cloak.  When  at  last  he 
gets  one,  his  little  soul  is  filled  with  happiness ;  but  the  very  same  evening 
he  is  waylaid  by  ruffians  and  robbed  of  his  new  treasure,  and,  in  conse- 
quence, he  dies  of  a  broken  heart.  This  is  certainly  a  simple  tale  so  far  as 
the  plot  goes,  but  the  plot  is  not  everything ;  the  way  in  which  the  clerk's 
state  of  mind  is  drawn  burns  deep  into  the  reader's  attention,  so  great  is 
Gogol's  directness,  so  serious  is  his  treatment  of  a  case  that  stands  as  a  rep- 
resentative of  general  misery.  The  unhappy  hero  is  not  turned  to  ridicule, 

—  the  Russian  novelists  are  wholly  free  from  contempt  for  any  of  the  weak- 
nesses that  they  study  and  describe,  —  because  the  writer  sees  that  the  poor 
man's  petty  life  and  meager  joys  are  all  that  is  left  to  him  in  a  country 
where  men  seem  to  live  in  a  perpetual  twilight.     A  microscopist  is  as  likely 
to  laugh  at  the  animalcules  he  is  examining  as  Gogol  is  to  sneer  at  these 
dwarfed  victims  of  despotism. 

"  Mere  entertainment  would  be  a  degrading  aim  for  a  Russian  novelist 

—  that  is,  the  luxury  of  ease  and  security,  and  not  even  the  masters  in  that 

1  The  title  means,  really,  dead  serfs ;  for  the  Russian  word  for  soul  was  uni- 
versally applied  to  the  serfs  of  the  empire,  in  the  days  preceding  the  emancipa- 
tion. 


TENTETNIKOF  AND   HIS   TEACHERS  383 

country  know  either  of  these.  All  writing  is  under  the  control  of  a  vigi- 
lant censorship;  students  are  forbidden  access  to  what  are  regarded  as 
dangerous  books ;  yet  the  novel,  by  confining  itself  to  the  representation  of 
familiar  or  possible  facts,  manages  to  elude  repression.  Even  the  sharpest- 
eyed  censor  does  not  read  what  is  written  between  the  lines ;  but  it  is  this 
part,  printed,  as  it  were,  in  invisible  ink,  that  helps  to  fill  out  the  terrible 
picture  of  despair  that  almost  every  Russian  novel  contains. 

"Indeed,  as  a  valuable  means  of  drill  in  the  technicalities  of  literature, 
despotism  has  never  received  from  writers  upon  education  half  the  praise 
that  it  deserves.  The  writer  is  sure  to  be  careful  in  his  phraseology  when 
a  rash  word  may  mean  life-long  exile ;  and  one  of  the  results  of  the  terrors 
of  the  Russian  penal  code  was  that  novelists  learned  compression  and  vigor, 
as  well  as  all  the  possibilities  of  seriousness.  We  find  this  forcible  reserve 
even  during  the  brief  flowering  time  of  romanticism,  which  is  yet  enriched 
by  precise  and  vivid  realism.  Gogol's  Dead  Souls  owes  but  little  of  its 
merit  to  ingenious  toying  with  local  superstitions,  or  to  the  aid  of  the  super- 
natural. Far  from  it;  it  is  its  naturalness  that  makes  the  book  impressive, 
as  the  hero  wanders  from  one  part  of  Russia  to  another,  buying  the  names  of 
dead  serfs,  in  order  to  employ  these  lists  of  apparent  belongings  as  security 
on  which  to  borrow  money.  His  roving  necessitates  a  number  of  different 
pictures,  so  that  in  a  single  frame  we  find  many  separate  scenes  of  Russian 
life ;  and  the  total  impression  is  one  of  deep  gloom.  It  is  easy  to  understand 
why  Pushkin,  on  reading  it,  should  have  said,  'What  a  dreary  country 
Russia  is ! '  And  if  other  proof  were  needed,  it  might  be  found  in  the 
gloomy  end  of  Gogol's  own  life,  which  was  embittered  by  his  absolute 
uncongeniality  with  his  surroundings,  and,  indeed,  by  madness." 

—  THOMAS  SERGEANT  PERRY. 


TENTETNIKOF  AND  HIS   TEACHERS 

(From  Dead  Soitls) 

WHY  should  an  author  always  depict  poverty  and  the 
miseries  of  life,  and  people  from  the  ends  of  our  provinces, 
the  remote  nooks  and  corners  of  our  country  ?  But  what  if 
that  is  his  vocation  —  if,  for  his  part,  conscious  of  and  laboring 
under  his  own  limitations,  he  is  able  to  think  only  of  the 
imperfections  and  the  miseries  of  life ;  and  if,  leaving  to  the 
large  cities  their  graces  and  their  culture,  he  can  represent  only 
the  people  of  the  cantons  far  removed  from  the  seat  of  empire  ? 


384  NIKOLAI  VASSILIEVITCH  GOGOL 

There  is  no  way  to  prevent  him.  And  here  we  are  again, 
falling  back  into  the  solitudes  and  recesses  of  our  provinces. 
But  ah,  what  solitudes  and- what  recesses  ! 

There  is  presented  to  us  now  an  endless  chain  of  hills,  like 
gigantic  ramparts  of  some  immense  fortress,  with  bastions 
pierced  by  portholes,  running  sinuously  and  throwing  their 
shadows,  cut  into  zigzag,  for  a  distance  of  hundreds  of  kilo- 
meters. The  mountains  rise  magnificently  from  the  plain, 
like  perpendicular  walls  of  calcareous  limestone,  parti-colored, 
streaked,  and  hollowed  out,  with  cascades  of  pure  water,  with 
fissures,  and  with  cavities ;  swelling  out  with  turfy  breasts, 
covered  as  with  a  lamb's  fleece  by  living  shoots,  clasped  by 
the  roots  of  fallen  timber,  and  receding  in  somber  thickets 
of  trees  that  have  escaped  by  some  miracle  from  the  devas- 
tation of  the  ax. 

The  river,  here  faithful  to  its  banks,  plows  its  way  beyond 
in  bends  and  curves,  and  then  wanders  among  the  prairies  and, 
having  gained  by  a  hundred  capricious  currents  a  free  space, 
expands  into  a  broad  mirror,  which  reflects  the  brightness  of 
the  sun  and  the  deep  shadows  of  a  group  of  birch,  ash,  and 
elder  trees.  Farther  on,  it  escapes  in  triumph  past  bridges, 
mills,  and  dikes,  which  themselves  seem  to  be  running  a  race 
with  it,  and  to  be  forced  to  stop,  outdone,  at  each  sudden 
detour  of  the  coquette. 

It  is  a  place  where  the  rapid  current,  making  a  turn,  flings 
itself  onward  with  great  force  into  the  woods,  and  disappears 
under  the  ample  and  luxuriant  foliage.  It  seems  a  place  of 
rendezvous  for  the  vegetable  armies  of  the  North  and  the 
South.  The  oak,  the  fir,  the  wild  pear,  the  maple,  the  cherry, 
the  thorn,  the  beech,  the  aspen,  the  service  tree,  the  ivy,  and 
the  hop,  all  entangled,  rest  one  upon  another,  and  strive  to 
climb,  followed  by  the  impotent  bindweed,  —  grasping  and 
netting  themselves  together,  and  forced  out  horizontally,  so  as 
to  cover  all  that  part  of  the  mountain  with  a  wreath  of  such 
extent  and  complication  as  to  recall,  even  to  a  savage,  the 
foliage  of  a  virgin  forest. 


TENTETXIKOF  AND  HIS   TEACHERS  385 

Over  all  that  sea  of  verdure,  above  the  bright  spots  which 
form  at  its  base  double  peaks  of  yellow,  rose,  and  celestial  blue, 
shoot  up  the  red  roofs  of  a  lordly  dwelling,  the  gables  of 
neighboring  cottages,  and  the  crowning  top  of  the  Master's 
house,  ornamented  by  a  porch  and  by  a  great  arched  window ; 
and  higher  than  all  the  vast  mass  of  woods  and  of  roofs,  an 
ancient  church  holds  aloft  its  five  spires  of  glittering  gold, 
while  at  the  base  of  the  spires  are  five  Greek  crosses  of  open- 
work, secured  by  beautiful  gilded  chains,  so  that  from  afar 
they  seem  to  burn  in  the  air  without  any  apparent  support, 
with  golden  streams  of  ducal  splendor  and  of  miraculous  play. 
And  all  this  mass  —  spires,  roofs,  and  crosses  —  is  reflected  in 
inverted  o.rder  in  the  coves  of  the  river  below.  There  the 
evergreens,  of  sweet  resinous  odor,  some  along  the  bank  and 
others  deeply  immersed  in  the  water,  bend  their  branches  to 
the  stream  and  dip  their  stems  among  the  light  river  sponge 
which  floats  on  the  surface  as  though  to  join  itself  to  the  water 
lilies ;  and  in  that  thoughtful  solitude  they  seem  to  contemplate 
the  wavering  reflection  of  the  spires  of  the  old  church. 

Seen  from  below,  all  this  was  very  beautiful ;  but  the  view 
which  was  to  be  enjoyed  from  the  porch  steps  or  from  the 
balcony  or  the  windows  of  the  lordly  mansion  enhanced  it 
greatly.  No  friend  of  the  proprietor  of  this  panorama  could 
remain  unmoved  at  the  spectacle.  Every  visitor,  on  beholding 
it,  drew  a  full  breath  and  exclaimed : 

"  Heavens,  what  a  beautiful  picture  !  " 

In  fact,  the  observer  gazed  at  this  point  through  boundless 
space.  Beyond  were  prairies,  diversified  by  groves  and  marked 
with  water  mills.  Belts  of  forest  lay  in  green,  far  away. 
Through  the  thin  atmosphere  shone  the  buff  of  distant  sand. 
Then  again  were  woods,  but  bluish,  like  the  sea,  or  like  mists 
softened  by  distance ;  then  more  sand,  but  paler  than  the  first, 
though  having  still  a  tint  of  cream  or  straw  color.  At  the 
verge  of  the  horizon  appeared,  like  an  uneven  and  winding 
palisade,  beautiful  mountain  peaks  which  gleamed  with  white 
light  even  through  the  storms,  as  though  it  were  theirs  to  be 

SCH.   IN  COM.  —  25 


386  NIKOLAI  VASSILIEVITCH  GOGOL 

ever  bathed  in  sunshine.  By  the  aid  of  their  spectral  light 
were  seen  at  their  bases  confused  spots  which  seemed  to  be 
covered  with  a  fleece  of  smoke.  They  were  villages ;  but  the 
distance  was  so  great  that  the  eye  could  not  have  recognized 
them,  even  with  a  glass,  as  groups  of  dwellings  if  there  had  not 
appeared,  at  certain  times  of  the  day,  one  or  two  bright  flashes 
si  looting  up  and  remaining  under  the  rays  of  the  sun,  on  the 
top  of  the  gilded  steeple  of  the  church,  showing  that  this  was 
the  center  of  a  mass  of  population. 

All  this  was  enveloped  in  a  calm  which  was  broken  only  by 
the  singers  of  the  air,  their  songs  to  be  confounded  with  the 
whistle  of  winds,  the  murmurs  of  caves,  the  gurgle  of  waters, 
the  rustle  of  leaves,  —  songs  lost  in  the  general  harmony  of  the 
.magnificent  whole.  Indeed,  lingering  upon  the  balcony  of  the 
lordly  home,  no  one  was  able,  even  after  two  or  three  hours,  to 
say  anything  but  this: 

"  O  God,  how  grand,  how  beautiful  is  the  work  of  thy  hands !  " 

Who  was  the  owner,  the  proprietor,  and  Lord  of  this  crown- 
ing village,  which,  as  an  impregnable  fortress,  one  could  reach 
only  from  below,  and  which  could  be  captured  only  from  the 
other  side  ? 

Scattered  oaks  graciously  greeted  the  visitor,  holding  out 
their  branches  to  bid  him  welcome,  and  led  him  to  the  gable  of 
the  same  house,  the  top  of  which  we  have  seen  from  behind. 
The  mansion  appeared  now  in  all  the  pride  of  its  front,  having 
on  one  side  a  long  row  of  cottage  gables,  a  balcony,  and  pointed 
peaks;  on  the  other,  the  towering  church,  which  shone  in  its 
gilded  carvings  high  above,  in  the  homage  of  the  creature  to 
the  Creator. 

To  what  privileged  man  belonged  this  seeming  paradise,  this 
little  Eden  of  the  district  of  Tremalakchaneki  ? 1 

To  Andrew  Ivanovitch  Tentetnikof,  a  young  gentleman  of 
thirty-three  years,  a  bachelor. 


1  .The  District  of  Tremalakchaneki  is  in  the  extreme  east  of  European  Russia, 
in  the  Ural  mountain  region. 


TENTETNIKOF  AND  HIS   TEACHERS  387 

But  what  is  he,  and  who  is  he  ?  What  are  his  habits,  man- 
ners, character,  —  what  sort  of  a  man  is  he  ? 

There,  there,  gentle  reader,  I  believe  there  is  nothing  better 
to  do  than  to  question  his  neighbors.  To  begin  with,  his  neigh- 
bor Brandorof,  who  belongs  to  the  class  (now  extinct)  of  old- 
time  handsome  and  gallant  officers  in  retirement.  This  man 
applied  to  Andrew  Ivanovitch  the  somewhat  harsh  expression, 
"a  perfect  brute." 

A  brave  General,  whose  possessions  and  homestead  are  sit- 
uated ten  versts  from  those  of  Andrew  Ivanovitch,  said  : 

"  Andrew  Ivanovitch  is  not  a  fool,  it  is  true  ;  but  his  head  is 
full  of  chimeras.  I  could  be  useful  to  him,  for  I  have  plenty 
of  influential  relatives  in  St.  Petersburg,  even  in  commanding 
positions  —  The  General  did  not  finish  his  sentence. 

The  Chief  of  Police,  being  interrogated,  gave  this  turn  to  his 
reply  : 

"  Andrew  Ivanovitch  is  a  gentleman,  but  his  blood  is  low. 
To-morrow  I  am  going  to  present  to  him  a  bill  of  arrears,  which 
won't  please  him  much." 

Peasants,  when  asked  about  their  Master,  kept  silence.  Prob- 
ably there  is  good  reason  for  concluding  that  public  opinion  con- 
cerning him  is  rather  unfavorable  than  otherwise  in  the  district. 

To  speak  without  prejudice,  Andrew  Ivanovitch  is  not  a  bad 
man,  but  really  he  is  but  a  sky  smoker.1  Heavens  !  How 
many  men  there  are  who  do  nothing  through  long  years  but 
send  up  smoke  to  the  vault  of  the  sky  !  And  why  should  not 
Tentetnikof  also  have  the  largest  amount  of  leisure  to  smoke  ? 
Now,  for  an  example  of  my  good  will,  here  is  the  detail  of  one 
day  of  his  life ;  and  since  all  the  other  days  are  the  same  with 
him,  the  reader  can  form  his  own  idea  of  the  character  of  this 
man,  and  judge  how  far  his  life  corresponds  to  the  beauty 
around  him. 


1  That  is  to  say,  a  fly-catcher  (trifler),  an  idler,  an  utterly  useless  person,  who 
beats  the  water  to  make  waves,  who  smokes  in  order  to  do  something,  and  has 
no  other  employment  for  his  ten  fingers  than  to  hold  the  stem  of  his  pipe  with 
the  most  serious  air  in  the  world.  —  Note  by  Charriere. 


388  NIKOLAI   VASSILIEVITCH  GOGOL 

He  woke  very  late  in  the  morning  and,  without  quitting  his 
bed,  he  remained  a  long  time  rubbing  his  eyes ;  and  as  these 
were  unfortunately  small,  he  rubbed  them  for  half  an  hour 
without  making  them  big.  During  all  this  time  his  servant 
Mikhailo  stood  without  his  chamber  door,  holding  an  ewer, 
placed  in  a  large  copper  bowl,  and  covered  with  an  ample 
towel.  An  hour  passed  in  this  way  ;  then  the  Master  yawned, 
stretched  himself,  dreamed.  Poor  Mikhailo,  tired  of  standing, 
set  down  his  burden,  went  back  to  the  kitchen,  and  returned 
to  see  if  his  Master,  still  reclining  on  the  bed,  was  fully  awake. 
Finally  Andrew  Ivanovitch  washed  himself  with  a  great  deal 
of  water  and  much  noise,  donned  his  chamber  robe,  and  walked 
with  slow  steps  to  a  little  parlor  to  partake  of  tea,  coffee,  cocoa, 
and  even  a  little  warm  milk,  —  all  slowly,  a  spoonful  at  a  time, 
—  with  a  great  waste  of  bread  crumbled  on  the  floor  among 
the  ashes  of  his  pipe.  He  devoted  two  hours  to  this  pastime. 
Then  he  fortified  himself  with  a  cup  of  tea,  poured  out  to  cool, 
and  went,  cup  in  hand,  to  a  window  looking  out  on  the  court. 
Under  the  window  at  that  time  occurred,  each  day,  the  follow- 
ing scene.  At  first  it  was  Grigori  who  roared  —  Grigori  the 
butler,  calling  to  Perfilievna  the  housekeeper  : 

"  Ah,  you  infernal  hag,"  he  bawled,  "  can't  a  jade  like  you 
keep  still  a  moment  ?  " 

"  Won't  you  hold  your  tongue  ?  "  shouted  the  old  woman, 
pointing  her  thumb  and  making  a  grimace  —  for  she  was  very 
coarse,  in  spite  of  her  love  for  the  delicacies  confided  to  her 
care. 

"Doesn't  everybody  knpw  your  connivance  with  the  stew- 
ard ?  The  steward  is  a  thief  of  the  same  kind.  And  do  you 
suppose  that  the  Master  doesn't  know  about  both  of  you? 
He's  here.  He  knows  it  all,  and  hears  it  all,  I'm  sure." 

"  Where  is  the  Master  ?  " 

"At  the  window.     He  sees  and  hears  it  all,  I  tell  you." 

And,  in  fact,  the  Master  was  there,  and  did  see.  But  what 
did  he  hear?  A  young  child,  who  was  receiving  a  whipping 
from  its  mother,  cried  like  a  little  fiend.  A  dog  of  the  lower 


TENTETNIKOF  AND  HIS  TEACHEES  389 

court  howled  frightfully,  having  been  scalded  by  a  wretched 
scullion  who  almost  fainted  with  laughter  at  the  kitchen  door 
to  see  the  animal  roll  in  agony  on  the  grass.  All  was  life, 
action,  animation.  There  was  enough  for  the  Master  to  see 
and  to  hear.  Was  it  not  a  contrast  to  himself  ?  But  it  was 
only  when  the  uproar  became  unendurable,  interrupting  the 
easy  idleness  of  body  and  mind  which  was  habitual  with  him, 
that  he  woke  from  his  vegetative  languor  and  his  moral  stupor 
and  commanded  the  servants  to  be  more  quiet. 

Two  hours  before  dinner  he  passed  in  his  study,  engaged 
upon  a  work  which  was  to  embrace  Russia  considered  under 
all  its  aspects,  —  civil,  political,  religious,  philosophical ;  to  dis- 
cuss the  embarrassing  problems  which  were  presented  at  the 
time,  and  to  outline  clearly  a  great  future.  In  brief,  it  included 
everything,  and  in  the  fullness  which  is  affected  by  the  publicists 
of  our  day.  But  up  to  this  hour,  the  colossal  enterprise  is  only 
an  ideal.  It  is  true  that  in  rare  moments,  and  at  long  inter- 
vals, he  has  taken  his  pen,  and  some  embryos  have  appeared 
on  his  paper.  But  all  this  is  thrown  aside  and  buried  under 
the  blotting  papers,1  and  the  great  publicist  of  the  future 
takes  up  some  book,  which  doesn't  leave  his  hands  until  dinner 
time.  The  book  is  opened  and  closed,  taken  up  and  laid  down, 
a  hundred  times  during  the  relish,  the  roast,  and  the  dessert, 
so  that  some  of  the  dishes  grow  cold  and  others  are  carried 
away  untouched.  Then  comes  the  pipe,  then  the  coffee ;  then 
the  Master  plays  a  game  of  checkers  with  and  against  himself. 
What  he  does  between  this  game  and  supper  is  very  difficult  to 
say,  However,  I  believe  I  should  do  the  Master  no  wrong  in 
intimating  my  theory  that  he  does  nothing  at  all. 

Thus  it  was  that  a  young  man  of  thirty -three  passed  his  time 
in  solitude,  so  that  one  may  consider  him  as  sitting  for  three  or 
four  hours  at  a  time  each  day,  with  intervening  walks  of  ten  or 
twelve  minutes,  always  in  his  chamber  robe  and  without  a 

1  In  this  great  scheme  of  Tentetnikof  and  its  miserable  conclusion,  and  per- 
haps in  other  descriptions  relating  to  the  same  personage,  Gogol  is  portraying 
his  own  experience. 


390  NIKOLAI  VASSILIEVITCH  GOGOL 

necktie.  He  did  not  go  out  for  a  stroll,  to  exercise  either  on 
foot  or  on  his  horse,  nor  did  he  even  open  his  window  to  air  out 
his  apartment ;  and  the  admirable  view,  which  none  of  his  rare 
guests  could  contemplate  without  emotion,  had  no  existence  so 
far  as  the  Master  of  the  fields  and  villages  was  concerned. 
From  all  this,  the  reader  will  see  that  Andrew  Ivanovitch 
Tentetnikof  belonged  to  a  family  of  those  Russians  whose 
characterization  wholly  eludes  translation,  and  who  were  for- 
merly called  ouvalni,  legeboki,  or  baibaki,1  and  whom  I  know 
not  what  to  call  now,  for  want  of  a  modern  sobriquet. 

Are  such  characters  born  spontaneously,  or  are  they  formed 
by  an  aggregation  of  successive  imprints  and  of  traits  resulting 
from  circumstances  ?  Instead  of  answering  in  three  words,  as 
I  would  have  a  right  to  do,  I  shall  be  liberal  enough  to  relate 
the  story  of  his  education. 

In  the  years  of  his  infancy  and  of  his  youth,  everything 
seemed  to  conspire  to  favor  him.  As  a  child  of  twelve  years, 
intelligent,  thoughtful,  a  little  given  to  dreaming,  a  little  bad, 
he  had  the  good  fortune  to  go  to  a  public  school  which  was 
then  under  the  charge  of  an  extraordinary  man.  The  school- 
master was  the  idol  of  the  youths ;  Alexander  Petrovitch 2  — 
that  was  his  name  —  had  the  peculiar  gift  of  recognizing  even 
in  a  small  child  the  nature  of  the  future  man.  And  how  well 
did  he  know  the  true  Russian  heart  and  character  !  How 
thoroughly  and  perfectly  did  he  understand  each  of  the  pupils 
of  his  school  !  How  he  exerted  himself  to  stimulate  them  ! 
There  was  not  a  prankish  youth  who  did  not  come  voluntarily 
to  him,  after  an  escapade,  with  a  full  confession  of  his  fault. 


1  Drones,  stay-at-homes,  recluses. 

2  Alexander  Petrovitch  is  exceptional  among  the  characters  of  Gogol.     Gen- 
erally the  author  seeks  to  portray  the  Russians  as  they  are,  or  were  in  his  time. 
In  this  instance  Gogol  depicts  his  ideal  of  an  educator  and  of  an  educational 
system.     With  the  zeal  of  a  reformer  he  unfolds  his  plan  of  education  by  a  sort 
of  natural  selection,  in  which  the  dull  and  the  idle  are  speedily  eliminated  from 
the  schools,  and  the  want  of  lofty  aspiration  is  punished  by  the  contempt  of  the 
successful.     Gogol's  ideal  teacher  is  a  man  of  intense  and  wonderful  personal- 
ity,—  "  an  incomparable  instructor,  a  mentor,  a  Socrates." 


TENTETNIKOF,  AND  HIS   TEACHERS  391 

Moreover,  the  penitent  would  go  away,  not  with  downcast 
look,  but  with  head  erect,  for  he  had  a  firm  purpose  to  atone 
for  his  error.  Even  in  the  reproofs  of  Alexander  Petrovitch 
there  was  something  encouraging,  something  —  I  know  not 
what  —  which  said,  "Let  your  slips  serve  to  raise  you  higher." 
True  philosopher  that  he  was,  he  defined  self-love  as  a  force 
which  gives  impulse  to  the  faculties  of  a  man;  and  he  took 
care  to  handle  the  cords  of  this  marvelous  machine.  He 
loved  to  say : 

"  I  want  a  person  to  have  a  mind,  and  that  is  all  I  require. 
He  who  aspires  to  develop  his  mind  has  no  time  for  folly.  The 
mischief  of  childhood  will  disappear  of  itself." 

And,  in  fact,  under  his  instruction  prankishness  passed  for 
stupidity.  The  pupil  who  did  not  seek  to  give  evidence  of 
brains  —  to  become  a  good  scholar  —  was  soon  the  butt  of  ridi- 
cule and  of  contempt  to  his  companions.  The  big  dolts  and 
imbeciles  were  covered  with  obnoxious  sobriquets,  and  these 
from  the  mouths  of  the  smallest  pupils,  on  whom  they  did  not 
dare  to  lay  a  finger. 

"  Ah,  that  is  too  severe,"  said  many  a  person  to  the  school- 
master, astonished  at  his  system.  "  Your  young  men  of  brains 
will  become  insolent." 

"  No,"  he  would  say,  "  it  is  the  plan  for  me.  It  is  my  rule 
not  to  keep  the  incapables  long.  For  the  bad  and  the  weak, 
one  course  is  fully  enough.  For  boys  with  brains,  who  don't 
pout,  I  have  another." 

The  least  activity  of  their  intelligence  was  known  to  him. 
He  seemed  to  notice  nothing,  to  see  nothing;  but  it  was  as 
though  he  had  been  rendered  invisible  and,  by  a  magic  gift,  was 
all  sight,  all  hearing,  with  the  power  to  distinguish  nicely,  from 
the  center  of  his  atmosphere  of  impassibility,  the  faculties  and 
the  inclinations  of  his  pupils.  He  let  alone  their  peccadilloes 
to  some  extent,  finding  it  advantageous  for  his  own  enlighten- 
ment, to  find  in  their  mischief  a  significant  hint  of  the  qualities 
of  their  hearts.  He  would  say  to  the  grave  men  who  ques- 
tioned him  in  good  faith  on  this  apparent  laxity,  that  the  moral 


392  NIKOLAI  VASSlLlEVtTClII  GOGOL 

outbreaks  of  children  were  as  indispensable  to  him  as  are  the 
eruptions  of  the  skin  to  the  physician,  impatient  to  learn  by  the 
symptoms  the  true  nature  of  the  humors  and  affections  of  all 
the  physical  system  in  its  maladies. 

Alexander  Petrovitch  was  adored  by  his  pupils.  There  were 
those  who  were  much  less  attached  to  their  own  parents.  I 
will  go  farther,  and  say  that  in  many  who  had  come  to  the  age 
of  foolish  outbursts,  their  warmest  passions  yielded  in  strength 
to  the  love  which  they  felt  for  him.  Even  to  his  last  day,  to  his 
last  breath,  the  pupil  recognized  the  birthday  of  his  dear  Master, 
and  gesticulated,  at  least,  even  with  fever-weakened  arm,  as  if 
drinking  to  the  health  of  the  wise  friend,  who  had  been  long 
in  the  tomb.  Then  he  closed  his  eyes  and  did  pious  homage  in 
tears. 

There  were  many  scientific  notions  in  reference  to  our  Rus- 
sian world  which  the  teacher  deemed  superfluous,  and  even 
harmful  to  the  development  which  he  desired  for  each  of  his 
pupils  —  much  of  the  needless  and  stupid  intellectual  gymnas- 
tics which  the  French  introduced  among  us,  as  genteel  recrea- 
tions.1 He  substituted  for  them  various  employments  which 
afforded  physical  exercise,  under  the  sheds,  and  in  all  the  cor- 
ners and  nooks  of  the  campus  and  of  the  gardens. 

He  gave  little  time  to  the  pupils  of  small  intellectual  endow- 
ments. The  course  of  study  for  these  unfortunate  ones  was 
purposely  shortened.  On  the  other  hand,  well-endowed  youths 
had  before  them  the  prospect  of  a  course  of  study  nearly  double 
the  amount  which  was  offered  anywhere  else,  and  they  entered 
upon  it  with  pride.  Besides,  there  was  a  higher  class  reserved 
for  select  scholars  —  a  class  which  bore  no  resemblance  to  the 
post-graduate  system  of  other  schools.  Of  this  class  of  young 
men  well  trained  to  his  hand,  he  required  what  some  others 
foolishly  exact  from  the  poor  fellows  who  have  not  yet  had  time 

1  Probably  these  were  acting  charades,  verse  games,  dances,  fencing,  "hot 
cockles"  and  "pigeon  flights"  (French  diversions  for  children),  with  all  the 
accompaniments  of  forfeits  and  penalties  —  all  sorts  of  little  games,  and  perhaps 
also  juvenile  theatricals.  Note  what  a  mass  of  such  importations  was  brought 


TENTETNIKOF  AND  HIS   TEACHERS 

to  learn  human  life  —  that  higher  self-command  by  which  they 
can  abstain  from  mirth  and  raillery  while  hearing  raillery  among 
others,  leaving  a  shallow-pate  or  fool  free  to  work  his  will,  and 
caring  nothing  for  getting  even  with  him ;  living  in  a  perpetual 
calmness  and  dignity  of  soul,  which  insures  a  healthy  judgment. 
All  that  a  scholar,  a  conscientious  man,  a  man  of  courage  and  of 
principle  must  do,  he  gave  them  in  a  nutshell ;  and  the  school- 
master himself  illustrated  it  all  in  his  actions.  O,  how  profoundly 
versed  was  that  man  in  the  science  of  life !  He  had  about  him 
but  few  other  teachers.  He  did  most  of  the  teaching  himself. 
He  abstained  from  the  sesquipedalian  words  so  dear  to  pedants, 
and  from  all  the  infinitesimal  subtleties  so  common  among 
shallow  brains  nourished  with  abstractions ;  and  from  his  lips 
came  only  the  very  soul  of  science,  so  that  even  a  child  could 
discern  clearly  the  end  and  the  use  of  all. 

Of  all  the  sciences  he  held  to  those  only  which  develop  the 
useful  citizen,  the  worthy  son  of  the  fatherland.  Many  a 
recitation  hour  was  devoted  to  explaining  to  the  young  men 
what  was  in  store  for  them  on  their  entrance  upon  the  world 
and  in  the  course  of  their  lives.  He  unveiled  to  the  youth, 
the  whole  horizon  of  manhood,  with  its  coloring  and  its  detail, 
so  vividly,  so  naturally,  that  the  pupils,  seated  upon  their 
benches,  beheld  themselves  already  sworn  to  their  country's 
service,  and  lived  in  her  future.  All  the  sorrows,  the  tempta- 
tions, the  scandals  which  presented  their  seductions  to  him,  he 
referred  to  them.  He  presented  these  in  all  their  nakedness, 
with  nothing  to  shade  their  features,  so  that  the  boys  should 
not  learn  from  him  how  deformity  may  be  disguised.  So 
perfectly  was  it  all  known  to  him,  it  was  remarked  that  he 
himself  must  have  passed  through  every  rank  and  vocation 
of  life. 

Was  it  because  a  native  ambition  was  already  excited  to  a 
lively  degree,  and  in  the  very  look  of  the  sympathetic  school- 
about  by  the  French  nobles  who,  at  the  time  of  the  Emigration,  were  the  pre- 
ceptors and  models  of  nearly  all  the  Russian  families  that  are  most  eminent  at 
the  present  time.  Gogol  was  inclined  to  utilitarianism.  —  Note  by  Charriere. 


394  NIKOLAI   VASSILIEVITCH  GOGOL 

master  they  seemed  to  read  the  watchword  "  Forward  ! "  —  that 
eminently  Russian  word,  which  finds  so  many  echoes  in  the 
home  of  the  Russian,  working  marvels  in  his  inmost  soul?  Or 
was  it  from  some  other  cause  which  we  have  not  grasped? 
Certain  it  is  that  in  this  institution  the  child  had  scarcely 
reached  the  adolescent  age  when  he  hungered  and  thirsted  for 
trials,  labors,  activities  ;  and  the  departing  pupil  aspired  to 
employments  in  which  there  were  the  most  obstacles  to  over- 
come, where  the  soul  must  display  its  greatest  energies.  Few 
were  admitted  to  the  higher  course.  But  those  who  passed 
through  it  were  strong  men,  men  who,  in  the  public  service, 
within  a  few  months  established  a  reputation  of  being  armored 
in  bronze  against  all  that  might  seek  admission  to  their  hearts 
to  weaken  or  to  corrupt  them.  They  held  their  ground  firm 
and  pure  in  the  most  insecure  places,  while  many  others,  vastly 
more  clever  at  scheming  than  they,  gave  up  to  little  personal 
discomfitures  and  abandoned  their  places,  or,  yielding  to  stronger 
wills,  succumbed  to  indolence  and  found  themselves  the  prey 
of  peculators  and  sharpers. 

The  old  pupils  of  Alexander  Petrovitch  held  on  well.  They 
had  a  correct  idea  of  life  and  of  human  vices  ;  and  since  — 
thanks  to  their  treasury  of  wisdom  —  they  seemed  the  very 
incarnations  of  austere  and  courageous  probity,  they  were  not 
slow  to  exercise  an  inevitable,  irresistible  ascendency  over  even 
the  most  corrupt. 

The  personality  of  this  excellent  schoolmaster  made  a  very 
profound  impression  upon  Andrew  Ivanovitch  Tentetnikof, 
while  the  latter  was  yet  very  young.  The  impetuous  soul  of 
the  ambitious  child  struggled  long  and  stoutly  in  the  hope  that 
he  should  reach  the  higher  course.  Tentetnikof,  at  the  age  of 
sixteen  years,  reached  this  goal,  and  could  scarcely  believe  that 
he  was  really  so  fortunate  —  when,  at  that  very  time,  a  great 
blow  fell  upon  him.  This  unparalleled  teacher,  whose  every 
word  of  encouragement  had  caused  the  student's  heart  to  flutter, 
fell  very  ill  and  soon  afterward  prematurely  died.  What  a 
terrible  stroke  was  this  to  the  young  man  !  What  an  unspeak- 


TENTETNIKOF  AND  HIS   TEACHERS  395 

able  loss  lie  sustained  in  the  death  of  this  cherished  school- 
master ! 

A  single  month  had  scarcely  passed  when  he  found  that  all 
was  changed  in  the  school.  In  the  place  of  Alexander  Petro- 
vitch  appeared  a  certain  Feodor  Ivanovitch.  He  was  a  very 
zealous  man,  but  one  without  capacity.  He  demanded  (as  all 
his  class  do)  of  children  what  can  be  reasonably  required  only 
of  adults.  In  the  playful  ebullitions  of  the  little  ones,  he 
would  see  only  disorder  and  license.  He  established  a  system 
of  punishments  for  the  least  exhibition  of  frolicksomeness  — 
which  immediately  resulted  in  secret  delinquencies.  Every- 
thing seemed  tightened  by  a  binding  cord  during  the  day,  and 
there  was  then  not  a  trace  of  disorder.  But  night  came,  and 
was  given  up  to  frolics.  There  was  no  gain  from  the  change, 
but  certain  loss. 

So  far  as  the  sciences  were  concerned,  the  innovation  was 
no  less  remarkable.  Strangers  were  called  in.  New  teachers 
came,  with  new  lines,  new  angles,  new  points  of  view.  The 
young  listeners  accustomed  themselves  to  train  their  ears  and 
their  memories  to  a  deluge  of  new  phrases  and  unknown  words. 
Each  of  the  teachers  developed  his  lectures,  his  logic,  his  entire 
system  of  instruction  independently,  having  no  regard  for  con- 
sistency or  harmony  with  those  of  his  colleagues.  Each  one 
bristled  with  novelties,  was  carried  away  with  new  discoveries, 
and  was  feverishly  jealous  of  his  own  influence.  Unity  wholly 
disappeared.  The  life  of  school  training  gave  place  to  passions 
of  individuals  more  or  less  erudite,  more  or  less  accurate,  but 
all  equally  absolute.  When  the  youths  found  themselves  at 
a  loss  as  to  whom  they  should  follow,  they  withdrew  their 
confidence  from  all  the  teachers.  Their  desire  to  do  good  work 
died  out.  At  the  end  of  two  years  of  the  new  regime  it  would 
have  been  impossible  to  recognize  the  institution. 

Tentetnikof  was  of  a  gentle  and  straightforward  disposition. 
He  might  naturally  have  taken  some  part  in  the  nocturnal 
pranks  of  his  companions,  assisted  in  their  misdeeds,  listened 
to  their  profanity  ;  but  his  soul,  even  in  its  torpidity,  reverted 


396  frlKOLAt  VASSiLlEVITCH  GOGOL 

to  its  divine  origin.  He  suffered  nothing  to  seduce  him  into 
false  and  sinful  pleasures.  He  closed  his  eyes  to  the  giddy  and 
the  trifling.  Already  there  was  awakened  in  him  a  strong 
ambition,  but  he  had  neither  employment  nor  career.  It  was 
better  for  him  that  he  had  no  high  aim.  The  evil  was  done. 
He  listened  to  the  professors,  who  became  heated  with  excite- 
ment in  their  lectures,  and  then  he  recalled  the  departed  one 
who,  without  once  raising  the  pitch  of  his  voice,  had  been  able 
to  impart  clearness  and  dignity  to  his  slightest  sentences  by 
remaining  always  master  of  his  words. 

What  courses  and  courses  did  Tentetnikof  not  pass  through, 
under  his  new  teachers  !  Medicine,  chemistry,  philosophy, 
history  —  and  in  what  enormous  proportions  !  The  professors 
of  all  these  studies  seemed,  at  the  end  of  three  years,  scarcely 
to  have  completed  their  introductions.  He  was  expected  to 
acquire  a  detailed  knowledge  of  the  origin  and  the  institutional 
and  legal  development  of  Heaven-knows-how-many  German 
towns  ;  but  all  this  remained  in  his  mind  as  a  chaotic  mass. 

Thanks  to  his  natural  brightness,  he  saw  that  all  this  was 
undigested,  but  he  did  not  perceive  what  ought  to  be  done. 
Everything  awakened  regret  for  Alexander  Petrovitch.  So 
great  was  his  sense  of  loss  that  he  would  have  given  two  thirds 
of  his  fortune  to  have  him  restored.  But  youth  is  happy  in 
that  it  has  a  future.  And  as  the  time  approached  fpr  leaving 
his  desk,  he  felt  his  heart  bound  with  hope,  and  he  said  : 

"This  is  not  yet  life;  it  is  a  period  of  initiation.  True  life 
is  found  in  the  service  of  the  public.  Thither  I  must  tend." 

And  without  giving  a  thought  to  the  beautiful  scenes  which 
impress  every  traveler  so  forcibly,  without  even  taking  leave  of 
the  graves  of  his  parents,  he  repaired,  as  the  ambitious  do,  to 
St.  Petersburg,  where,  as  everybody  knows,  our  restless  youths 
gather  from  every  corner  of  the  Empire,  to  enter  service,  to 
serve  fully,  or  gaily  to  embrace  the  superficiality  of  our  false, 
cold,  insipid,  and  colorless  parlor  culture. 

The  ambitious  hopes  of  Andrew  Ivanovitch  were  favored, 
shortly  after  his  arrival,  by  his  uncle,  Onoufri  Ivanovitch,  the 


TENTETNIKOF  AND  HIS   TEACHERS  397 

Actual  Councillor  of  State.1  Thanks  to  the  protection  of  this 
officer,  after  much  striving  and  much  difficulty,  he  was  attached 
to  some  Department  or  other  of  the  Government. 

Where  does  one  not  find  enjoyment  at  that  age?  Our  young 
clerk  is  at  St.  Petersburg.  He  is  contented,  though  his  face 
is  a  little  pale.  There  is  in  the  air  a  crackling  cold,  some  thirty 
degrees  Reaumur.  That  terrible  child  of  the  North,  the  snow 
whirlwind,  rages  in  fury,  covering  the  sidewalks  under  unequal 
and  fantastic  heaps,  blinding  to  all  pleasure  the  passer-by,  pow- 
dering with  thick  cushions  the  fur  collars  and  the  mustaches  of 
men,  and  the  noses  of  beasts.  But  beyond  the  redoubtable  icy 
fusillade  which  the  flakes  maintain  in  the  air  there  is,  in  a  cer- 
tain direction,  in  a  fourth  or  fifth  story,  a  little  window  which 
throws  out  a  genial  light;  and  in  the  little  chamber  which  it 
reveals,  by  the  light  of  two  modest  candles,  and  amid  the  steam- 
ing  of  the  samovar,  beats  a  warm  heart  which  entertains  itself 
in  solitude  with  a  pure  love.  Here  is  read  a  beautiful  page  of 
a  Russian  poem,  full  of  inspiration  (such  as  God  deigns  at 
times  to  give  to  the  enjoyment  of  Russia),  which  seizes  and 
raises  the  estimation  of  a  chaste  young  man  as  it  does  not  and 
cannot  in  other  lands,  under  the  most  splendid  skies. 

Tentetnikof  soon  became  accustomed  to  his  service.  Soon 
that  service  ceased  to  be,  as  he  had  at  first  supposed  it  would 
be,  the  first  thought,  the  great  end  of  his  existence,  and  was 
relegated  by  him  to  a  secondary  place.  It  contributed,  by  the 
assignment  of  the  hours  of  the  Bureau,  to  make  him  appreciate 
better  the  minutes  and  the  days  of  leisure.  The  uncle,  the 
Actual  Councillor  of  State,  took  it  into  his  head  to  exploit  his 
dear  nephew  in  a  small  way,  but  the  nephew  was  not  slow  to 
understand  his  Excellency,  and  to  see  through  his  venerable 
uncle. 

Among  the  friends  of  Andrew  Ivanovitch,  of  whom  there 

1  The  office  of  Actual  Councillor  of  State  is  fourth  in  order  of  the  civil  ranks 
in  Russia.  Before  him,  in  line,  are  the  Privy  Councillor,  the  Actual  Privy 
Councillor,  and  the  Chancellor  of  the  Empire, — the  last  being  the  highest  in 
degree. 


398  NIKOLAI   VASSILIEV1TCU   GOGOL 

were  a  goodly  number,  were  two  of  a  sort  described  as  malcon- 
tents. In  character  they  were  strangely  morose.  They  seemed 
not  only  unable  to  endure  injustice  without  commotion,  but 
could  endure  nothing  which,  to  their  own  peculiar  views,  bore 
any  semblance  to  an  injustice  or  slight.  Straightforward  in 
the  matter  of  principle,  but  themselves  unfaithful  to  principle 
in  their  acts,  they  exacted  great  tolerance  for  themselves,  and 
at  the  same  time  were  full  of  intolerance  for  others.  They  had 
a  great  influence  over  Tentetnikof,  both  by  their  vehement 
language  and  by  a  sort  of  righteous  indignation  for  society. 
Having  irritated  his  nerves,  stirred  up  his  bile,  and  inoculated 
him  with  germs  of  irritation,  they  caused  him  to  observe  habit- 
ually a  series  of  intrigues  which,  till  then,  he  had  not  noticed. 

One  of  these  two  friends,  Feodor  Feodorovitch,  chief  of 
one  of  the  sections  which  had  their  Bureaus  divided  into  a 
suite  of  parlors,  began  to  annoy  him.  He  found  fault  without 
ceasing.  It  seemed  that  Lenitsyne  was  all  sugar  in  the  presence 
of  his  superiors,  and  all  vinegar  when  an  inferior  approached 
him.  As  an  instance  of  his  pettiness,  he  reprehended  those  who, 
on  holiday  occasions,  did  not  present  themselves  at  his  door  to 
congratulate  him.  He  had  a  list  of  the  names  that  were  lack- 
ing on  the  register  which,  in  those  days,  was  placed  in  the 
vestibule,  in  charge  of  the  porter,  where  the  subalterns  were 
expected  to  write  their  names. 

Andrew  Ivanovitch  came  to  feel  a  nervous  agitation  at  every- 
thing he  witnessed,  at  every  voice  he  heard.  I  do  not  know 
what  evil  genius  possessed  him  to  cross  and  enrage  his  superior. 
He  sought  an  occasion  for  this.  It  soon  presented  itself.  He 
seized  it  with  alacrity  and  ardor.  He  addressed  Feodor  Feodo- 
rovitch in  terms  so  galling  to  the  latter  that  the  officer  at  once 
signified  to  the  delinquent  that  he  must  at  once  make  satisfac- 
tion to  his  superior  before  the  entire  Department  or  be  dis- 
missed. His  Excellency,  the  uncle,  in  great  alarm,  hastened 
to  the  young  man's  lodgings,  and  endeavored  to  persuade  his 
nephew  to  seek  forgiveness. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,   Andrew  Ivanovitch,"  said  the  uncle, 


TENTETNIKOF  AND  HIS   TEACHERS  399 

"have  a  care  what  you  do.  Would  you  quit  in  disgrace  a 
career  so  well  begun  ?  And  why  ?  Because  your  chief  displays 
ill  manners  !  Ah,  my  dear  fellow,  if  a  person  pays  attention 
to  such  trifles,  he  cannot  remain  a  single  year  in  any  service 
whatever.  Have  a  little  more  sense  and  a  little  less  pride,  I 
beg  you.  I  very  much  desire  that  you  go  at  once  and  ask 
pardon." 

"That's  not  the  trouble,  Uncle,"  said  Andrew  Ivanovitch. 
"Nothing  would  be  easier  than  for  me  to  go  to  him  with  an 
apology,  even  in  the  presence  of  all  the  Bureau.  I  am  wholly 
in  the  wrong.  He  is  my  superior.  I  had  no  right  to  speak 
to  him  as  I  did.  It  is  this  that  troubles  me.  I  have  other 
duties  that  call  me  away.  I  have  charge  of  dependents  —  of 
three  hundred  dependents.  My  estate  is  wretchedly  adminis- 
tered. My  steward  is  an  ass.  The  State  will  lose  but  little  if 
another  shall  take  my  chair  in  the  Bureau,  which  I  have  filled 
long  enough,  doing  unimportant  and  trivial  things.  But  the 
State  will  suffer  a  real  loss  if  three  hundred  souls  are  without 
the  means  to  pay  their  capitation  tax.  Don't  you  really  think, 
with  me,  that  a  land  proprietor  who  is  not  a  mere  country 
squire  is  a  useful  member  of  society  of  his  country  ?  Yes,  I 
ask  you,  if,  now,  I  retire  to  my  estate,  resolved  to  secure  the 
prosperity  of  the  hundreds  of  Christian  families  who  are  sub- 
ject to  my  rule,  and  if  I  shall  be  able  to  present  to  the  State 
(which  you  think  I  am  deserting)  three  hundred  heads  of 
families,  comfortable,  sober,  industrious,  trained  to  obedience, 
how  will  my  service  be  less  useful,  less  praiseworthy,  than  that 
of  a  Chief  of  Department  —  of  a  Lenitsyne,  for  example  ?  " 

His  Excellency  opened  his  mouth  wide  in  astonishment.  He 
had  been  far  from  listening  to  this  flow  of  words.  After  a 
moment's  reflection  he  said  : 

"Very  well,  but  you  will  not  really  go  and  shut  yourself  up 
in  the  forest.  You  will  not  pretend,  I  hope,  to  bring  to  your 
social  standard  a  little  society  of  serfs.  Here  you  can  run 
across  a  General  or  a  Prince  in  the  streets.  At  least,  you  can 
be  near  to  them,  can't  you?  But  there  —  And  think  of  the  — 


400  NIKOLAI  VASSILIEVITCH  GOGOL 

the  gaslight  —  European  commerce  —  industries !  There  you 
will  find  only  a  rustic,  a  peasant.  What  an  idea,  to  condemn 
oneself  to  ignorance,  obscurity,  nothingness  !  To  go  from  the 
gaiety  of  the  court  to  smother  oneself  !  Come  !  You  haven't 
thought  of  that." 

Thus  the  good  uncle  expressed  himself.  As  for  him,  how- 
ever, it  was  a  fact  that  he  had  never  in  all  his  life  walked 
about  on  any  other  street  in  St.  Petersburg  than  the  one  which 
led  most  directly  to  his  Department ;  that  on  that  street  there 
was  neither  palace  nor  great  hotel,  nor  yet  any  public  monu- 
ment ;  that  he  had  never  looked  at  those  whom  he  met,  were 
they  Generals  or  Princes;  that  he  had  never  entertained  an 
idea  of  indulging  in  any  of  those  little  dissipations  which  are 
a  reproach  to  the  capital ;  and  that  never,  never  had  he  set 
foot  inside  the  vestibule  of  a  single  theater.  All  that  he  said 
to  his  nephew  was  purely  with  the  intention  of  exciting  the 
self-love  of  the  young  man  and  captivating  his  imagination. 

In  spite  of  his  eloquence  he  had  no  success,  for  Tentetnikof 
was  determined.  His  estate  at  this  time  presented  itself  to 
his  mind  as  a  charming  retreat,  full  of  good  thoughts  and 
sweet  reveries 'and,  at  the  same  time,  as  a  theater  of  the  most 
useful  activity.  He  had  given  but  little  real  thought  to  the 
plan,  but  he  had  declared  himself  ;  and  that  upon  which  we 
have  declared  ourselves  is  apt  to  become  a  fixed  idea.  Since 
it  was  decided,  a  new  horizon  spread  out  before  him.  From 
that  very  evening  he  possessed  himself  of  the  latest  works  on 
farming ;  and  fifteen  days  later  he  was  already  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  place  where  he  had  passed  his  infancy.  He 
was  near,  I  say,  to  the  beautiful  retreat  which  can  be  viewed 
with  indifference  by  no  one  to  whom  it  is  given  to  contemplate 
it  at  leisure.  ' 

Immediately  he  began  to  revive  the  impressions  which  had 
been  long  forgotten.  There  were  many  scenes  which  had 
wholly  passed  out  of  mind,  and  he  looked  with  all  the  curi- 
osity of  a  newcomer  upon  points  of  marvelous  beauty.  Sud- 
denly, he  knew  not  why,  his  heart  began  to  leap  when,  as  the 


TENTETNIKOF  AND  HIS   TEACHERS  401 

road  wound  about  in  a  ravine  in  a  thicket  of  the  forest  densely 
entangled  and  composed  of  giant  trees  with  gnarled  trunks,  he 
looked  up  and  down,  he  saw  far  beyond  him  venerable  oaks 
which  three  men  could  scarcely  reach  around,  and  he  beheld  a 
clearing  bordered  with  larches,  elms,  and  plane  trees,  crowned 
by  the  tops  of  handsome  poplars.  He  inquired  who  was  the 
proprietor  of  this  wood,  and  in  response  his  own  name  was 
given.  Emerging  from  the  thicket,  he  found  the  road  passing 
through  prairies,  picked  out  here  and  there  with  beautiful 
clumps  of  young  ash  trees  and  old  yews,  in  sight  of  a  long  suc- 
cession of  heights,  the  aspect  of  which  changed  from  moment 
to  moment,  as  the  road  turned  sometimes  to  the  right,  some- 
times to  the  left.  And  when  he  asked  of  some  peasant  to 
whom  belonged  these  prairies  and  these  hills,  the  reply  was 
always : 

"ToTentetnikof." 

TEe  road  ascended  after  turning,  and  traversed  a  plateau. 
Andrew  Ivanovitch  rode  past  fields  of  rye,  wheat,  and  barley 
on  one  side,  and  on  the  other  was  the  distant  expansive  view  of 
the  tracts  through  which  he  had  passed.  Soon  the  road  became 
darkened  by  degrees  as  it  entered  and  plunged  into  the  shadows 
of  luxuriant  trees,  mantled  with  dense  foliage  and  separated  by 
borders  of  green  carpet,  extending  to  the  hamlets.  There  the 
cottages  stood  in  file,  appearing  like  shadows  to  the  eyes  which 
were  attracted  by  the  red  roof  of  the  lordly  mansion,  above 
which  gleamed  five  or  six  gilded  spires. 

Instantly  the  heart  of  the  young  man  burned  and  beat  madly 
in  his  bosom.  It  was  unnecessary  to  inquire  where  he  was. 
His  thoughts  and  emotions  rushed  upon  him  and  found  expres- 
sion in  words  which  he  shouted  unconsciously  : 

"  Ah,  what  a  fool  I  have  been  up  to  this  day  !  Fate  gave  it 
to  me  to  be  the  free  dispenser  of  a  veritable  Eden,  and  I  left 
it  to  be  allured  among  miserable  scribblers  —  and  that,  after 
having  been  well  educated,  and  having  enjoyed  light,  learning, 
and  wisdom !  After  having  been  provided  with  all  things 
needed  to  sow  in  abundance  the  seeds  of  good  among  rny 

SCH.  IN  COM. 26 


402  NIKOLAI  VASSILIEVITCH  GOGOL 

species,  to  ameliorate  a  large  domain,  to  fulfill  the  numerous 
obligations  of  a  good  Master,  worthy  to  act  as  judge,  instructor, 
and  conservator  of  their  order  and  well-being.  And  I  was 
willing  to  confide  such  weighty  responsibilities  to  a  clown,  a 
half-savage  under  the  title  of  steward  !  " 

Andrew  Ivanovitch  closed  by  showering  himself  again  and 
again  with  epithets  indicative  of  triple  imbecility. 

Then  another  scene  awaited  him  in  the  village.  The  peas- 
ants, men  and  women,  having  been  advised  of  the  arrival  of 
the  Master,  assembled  in  his  court.  The  soroques,  the  kitchques, 
the  pavoiniks,  the  zapounes,1  the  beards  of  all  shapes,  —  plow- 
share, spade,  and  wedge,  —  red,  sandy,  ashy,  and  white  like 
silver  threads,  were  crowded  together.  The  men,  with  deep 
bass  voices,  roared  out : 

"  Kormiletz  !  a     We  behold  you  at  last !  " 

The  women  cried  in  soprano : 

"  O  our  dear  heart,  our  wealth,  our  greatest  treasure  !  " 

These,  and  others  who  were  farther  away,  added  to  the  con- 
fusion from  the  mere  love  of  noise.  One  old  woman,  wrinkled 
like  an  oven-dried  pear,  glided  like  a  needle  among  the  legs  of 
the  multitude,  and  straightened  herself  up  as  though  rising  out 
of  the  ground,  near  Andrew  Ivanovitch.  Striking  her  hands 
together  at  his  left  ear,  she  screamed  : 

"  O  but  you're  a  pitiful  creature  !  Has  the  German  style 
corded  up  your  legs  to  make  your  body  fall  ?  "  3 

"  Get  out,  and  for  good  !  Begone  !  "  cried  with  touching 
unanimity  the  spade-beards  and  wedge-beards  and  plowshare- 
beards.  "Just  see  the  impudence  of  that  old  worm-eaten 
shell  !  " 

A  voice  then  interposed  a  witticism  at  which  a  Russian  peas- 

1  Various  head-dresses  worn  by  the  women  of  Russia.     The  soroques  are 
made  of  white  linen,  and  embroidered  with  bright-colored  wool.    They  are  worn 
by  peasants  throughout  the  region  of  the  Ural  Mountains. 

2  One  who  supplies  food,  and  upon  whom  others  depend  for  sustenance. 

8  The  Russian  peasantry  are  fond  of  the  flowing  robes  and  loose  clothing  of 
their  Tartar  ancestors,  and  have  manifested  great  reluctance  to  adopt  the  more 
closely  fitting  garments  of  Western  Europe. 


TENTETNIKOF  AND  HIS   TEACHERS  403 

ant  alone,  of  all  the  world,  could  keep  his  face  straight.  The 
young  Master  was  unable  to  restrain  himself,  and  burst  out  in 
hearty  laughter,  which,  however,  did  not  prevent  him  from 
feeling  deeply  moved. 

"  What  deep  affection  !  And  for  whom  ?  For  a  man  whom 
they  have  never  seen,  and  who  has  never  cared  for  them," 
thought  he.  He  resolved  in  his  heart  to  be  a  participant  in 
their  labors  and  their  cares,  to  do  everything  to  aid  them  and 
to  make  them  what  they  ought  to  be.  His  was  the  unselfish 
care  of  a  good  and  faithful  landlord ;  the  worthy  disposition 
which  should  bind  to  him  the  simple  hearts  of  his  people.  He 
would  give  them  his  affection,  that  their  love  for  him  should 
not  be  lavished  without  return ;  he  would  be  himself,  in  fact, 
their  father  and  their  " kormiletz." 

Tentetnikof  undertook  very  seriously  the  duties  of  proprie- 
tor and  Master.  From  the  first  day  he  had  a  hundred  proofs 
that  his  steward  had  been  only  a  fool,  a  miserable  wretch,  very 
exact  in  keeping  his  accounts  of  the  chickens  and  their  eggs,  of 
pieces  of  cloth  and  skeins  of  thread  brought  by  the  women, 
but  wholly  ignorant  of  everything  relating  to  the  seeding  and 
the  harvest.  Let  me  add  that  the  steward  had  one  fixed  idea. 
He  suspected  the  peasants  of  conspiring  for  his  death.  Tentet- 
nikof discharged  this  lugubrious  bailiff,  and  appointed  in  his 
place  an  active  and  sensible  man.  Feeling  that  he  could 
intrust  to  this  person  the  minor  matters,  he  reserved  for  him- 
self the  more  important  affairs.  He  reduced  the  number  of 
days  of  required  labor,  so  that  the  peasants  could  give  more 
attention  to  their  personal  concerns  and  aspire  to  a  higher 
degree  of  comfort.  He  made  ready  to  forward  all  their  inter- 
ests. He  personally  frequented  the  field,  the  forest,  and  the 
prairie.  He  visited  the  granaries,  the  cart  sheds,  the  stables, 
and  the  mills.  He  went  to  the  port  to  see  the  ships  and  the 
great  barges  come  in  and  depart,  unload  and  load  again.  He 
took  charge  of  the  building  of  rafts  of  logs  cut  for  timber. 

"O,"  the  peasants  would  say,  "he  is  quick  with  his  feet 
and  with  his  eyes  !  "  And  even  those  who  had  fallen  into 


404  NIKOLAI  VASSILIEVITCU  GOGOL 

habits  of  extreme  laziness  scratched  the  backs  of  their  necks 
and  began  to  recover  the  use  of  their  legs  and  arms  and  bodily 
strength. 

But  this  activity  was  too  exciting  to  last  long.  The  peasant 
is  never  so  dull  as  he  seems.  The  serfs  of  Andrew  Ivanovitch 
very  soon  discovered  that  this  zeal  was  factitious  and  feverish. 
They  remarked  to  themselves  that  he  wanted  to  undertake  too 
many  things  at  once,  without  even  suspecting  how  they  would 
have  to  be  done  to  bring  any  of  them  to  a  successful  finish. 
They  noted  that  he  did  not  address  them  in  language  which 
goes  straight  to  the  understanding  of  the  laborer,  every  word 
of  which  enters  into  his  comprehension  as  the  ax  penetrates 
the  wood  and  carves  its  way.  It  followed,  not  exactly  that  the 
Master  and  the  serf  did  not  understand  each  other's  words,  but 
that  in  all  their  intercourse,  while  there  was  a  sort  of  harmony, 
they  constantly  heard  the  same  music  in  different  keys. 

Tentetnikof  soon  perceived  that,  from  the  lands  which  he  had 
reserved  for  himself,  as  the  choicest,  there  was  never  a  return 
that  was  proportional  to  that  received  from  the  mediocre  fields 
assigned  to  the  peasants.  The  sowing  was  done  earlier  on  his 
reservations,  but  the  grain  came  up  later,  though  it  appeared 
that  the  work  had  been  zealously  performed.  Often  he  himself 
had  assisted,  and  had  passed  around  to  the  laborers  a  flagon  of 
brandy  in  recognition  of  their  interest  manifested  in  his  behalf. 
For  a  long  time,  in  the  fields  of  the  peasants,  the  rye  had 
appeared,  the  oats  were  dropping  from  the  stalks,  and  the 
millet  had  grown  heavy,  while  in  his  own  vast  tracts  the  wheat 
scarcely  developed  a  stalk,  and  the  base  of  the  ear  was  hardly 
formed.  In  short,  the  Master  perceived  that  his  dependents 
were  cheating  him,  in  spite  of  all  the  indulgences  he  had 
accorded  them. 

He  essayed  to  charge  them  with  it,  and  to  reprove  them. 
They  replied  : 

"  How  should  we  ever  dare  to  neglect  the  lands  of  our  good 
Master?  Your  Grace  has  been  present  in  person  while  we 
labored.  When  we  sowed,  we  did  it  with  such  care  that  you 


TENTETNIEOF  AND  HIS  TEACHERS  405 

testified  your  satisfaction,  and  rewarded  each  of  us  with  a  treat 
of  brandy."  What  could  he  say  to  these  facts? 

"  But  to  what  am  I  to  attribute  the  poor  results  ?  "  he  asked. 

"God  knows.  Perhaps  to  the  weevil;  perhaps  the  worms 
have  devoured  the  roots  from  below.  Besides,  Master,  you 
know  that  these  lands  have  had  no  rain  at  all." 

But  the  disappointed  Master  could  easily  see  that,  so  far  as 
the  fields  of  the  peasants  were  concerned,  the  worms  had  not 
devoured  the  roots  from  below,  and  that  the  rains,  which  had 
fallen  so  capriciously,  had  singularly  favored  the  same  fields, 
without  deigning  to  moisten  the  reserved  wheat  lands. 

It  was  more  difficult  to  bear  with  the  women  than  with  the 
men.  They  continually  begged  exemption  from  the  required 
service,  pleading  illness  and  feebleness  of  health  such  as  would 
touch  the  hardest  heart.  And,  unhappily,  the  Master  abol- 
ished all  the  requirements  of  cloth,  of  apples,  of  mushrooms, 
and  of  nuts,  and  still  farther  reduced  the  number  of  days  of 
service  formerly  exacted  with  no  less  insistence.  He  believed 
that  the  women  under  his  authority,  more  fortunate  than  those 
of  their  class  elsewhere,  would  make  good  use  of  their  leisure 
in  attending  to  home  affairs  of  their  own;  that  the  husbands 
and  the  children  would  have  better  clothing,  better  food ;  that 
little  kitchen  gardens  would  extend  from  one  cottage  to  another. 

Nothing  of  the  sort  followed.1  The  idleness,  the  gossip,  the 
quarrels,  and  the  fights  among  the  fair  sex  were  such  that  the 
husbands,  after  whole  months  of  trouble,  of  protests  and  con- 
tentions in  vain,  came  to  the  Master's  house  and  vied  with  one 
another  in  saying: 

"Master,  do  deliver  me  from  my  wife.  She  has  become 
worse  than  a  very  devil.  There  is  no  living  with  her  at  all." 

He  wished  —  calling  on  God  to  witness  his  good  intentions 
— -that  he  might  return  to  coercive  measures.  But  tell  me, 

1  Tentetnikof  erred  in  making  too  great  and  sudden  concessions  at  once. 
By  conceding  a  little  at  a  time,  as  a  reward  for  good  conduct,  he  might  have 
taught  his  serfs  to  appreciate  the  blessings  of  liberty,  and  to  avail  themselves  of 
new  opportunities  for  self -development. 


406 

please,  how  could  he  do  this  ?  Every  one  of  the  female  delin- 
quents became  so  piteous,  wept  so  violently,  was  so  feeble,  was 
covered  with  such  wretched,  filthy,  and  ill-smelling  rags ! 

"  God  knows  what  ails  that  woman  !  Begone,  and  never  let 
me  see  you  again.  That's  enough,  that's  enough !  Go  along! 
Good-by  !  "  cried  poor  Tentetnikof. 

Then,  following  the  unfortunate  sick  woman  with  his  eyes, 
he  saw  that  she  had  scarcely  left  his  porte  cochere  when  she 
vigorously  attacked  a  neighboring  woman  in  a  fist  fight  over 
an  apple  or  a  turnip,  and  gave  her  contestant  such  heavy  blows 
on  the  side  that  any  moujik*  in  good  health  could  not  have 
slapped  a  boy  of  her  size  and  strength  more  effectually. 

He  essayed  to  establish  a  school  in  his  village,  so  that  at 
least  he  might  make  of  the  coming  generation  a  different  race 
of  people.  But  this  institution  was,  from  the  very  beginning, 
the  source  of  so  much  discussion  and  outcry  that  he  hung  his 
head,  and  reproached  himself  for  having  entertained  the  idea, 
as  too  wild  a  freak  of  his  imagination. 

In  the  investigations,  judicial  proceedings,  and  arbitrations, 
he  found  of  no  use  whatever  the  judicial  theories  of  life  in 
which  he  had  been  indoctrinated  by  the  professors  of  philoso- 
phy. First  one  theory  overcame  him,  then  another,  then  a 
third.  To  the  D — 1,  then,  with  all  speculative  sciences  !  By 
practical  experience  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  there  is 
something  good  and  useful  besides  the  subtleties  of  jurispru- 
dence and  the  works  of  philosophers,  and  that  is  a  knowledge 
of  men.  He  saw  that  something  was  lacking,  but  what  was  it  ? 
That  he  could  not  determine.  And  it  happened  to  him  as  it 
happens  so  frequently  to  others;  neither  did  the  peasant  under- 
stand the  Master,  nor  the  Master  the  peasant.  The  misunder- 
standing increased  from  day  to  day,  and  became  established  be- 
tween the  proprietor  of  the  domain  and  its  cultivators ;  so  that, 
finally,  the  zeal  of  the  manorial  Lord  became  utterly  frozen. 

For  a  time  he  went  to  visit  the  scenes  of  work  without  in- 

1  A  Russian  laborer. 


TENTETNIKOF  AND  HIS   TEACHERS  407 

tending  to  notice  anything,  and  he  did  not  trouble  himself 
much  about  the  cheating  the  laborers  did  in  their  measures. 
The  grain  heaps  were  piled  up  for  the  night,  and  were  scattered 
under  the  bright  sun  in  the  morning,  were  dried,  and  were 
piled,  finally,  in  large  and  beautiful  stacks.  The  fields  of 
labor  were  near  by,  but  his  eyes  were  directed  far  away. 

When  the  laborers  passed  to  a  distance,  his  gaze  was  upon 
objects  near  at  hand,  or  was  turned  sideways  to  some  bend  of 
the  river.  On  the  bank  a  red-footed  martin  was  passing.  He 
observed  that  the  bird,  having  caught  a  fish  in  the  water,  held 
the  same  crosswise  in  its  beak,  and  was  deliberating  whether 
to  swallow  it  whole  or  in  pieces ;  and  while  Tentetnikof  watched 
it  attentively,  far  away  on  the  bank  another  martin,  which  had 
not  caught  anything  as  yet,  fixed  its  round  eyes  on  its  fellow 
that  was  tantalizingly  provided  for  by  its  struggling  prey. 

Leaving  the  two  martins  to  measure  their  strength,  he  closed 
his  eyes  and  threw  back  his  head  to  the  airy  space,  while  his 
olfactories  were  delighted  with  the  scent  of  the  new-mown  hay, 
and  his  ears  caught  the  harmonies  which  the  flying  bevies  render 
when,  from  hollows  of  the  cliffs,  from  their  retreats  in  the  tree- 
tops,  and  from  every  part  of  the  heaven  they  unite  in  song  in  a 
choir  of  myriads  of  singers,  without  a  discordant  sound. 

The  quail  cries  in  the  rye.  The  rail  sighs  in  the  tall  grass. 
The  linnets  and  the  picaverets  warble  as  they  pass  in  the  air. 
The  trills  of  the  lark  rise  by  insensible  degrees  to  ethereal 
heights,  and  in  clarion  tones  is  heard  the  bass  of  the  cranes, 
forming  their  triangular  phalanx  under  the  clouds.  And  all 
the  surrounding  country  is  filled  and  animated  by  a  thousand 
cries,  by  the  warblings  and  the  sounds  of  this  colossal  concert 
of  the  birds.  O,  Heavenly  Creator  !  How  beautiful  is  Thy 
world  in  the  country,  even  in  the  most  lonely  places,  among 
the  little  villages,  lost  in  the  depths,  far  from  all  the  great 
roads,  far  from  all  the  cities  ! 

But  even  this  spectacle  and  these  glorious  concerts  pall  on 
our  dreamer,  and  begin  to  weary  him.  Soon  he  ceases  to  go  to 
the  fields.  He  takes  to  his  quarters  in  the  house.  He  refuses 


408  NIKOLAI  VASSILIEVITCH  GOGOL 

to  receive  even  the  steward,  when  the  latter  comes  to  present 
his  reports  and  his  accounts. 

Several  times  there  was  seen  at  the  mansion  an  ex-lieutenant 
of  Hussars,  an  incessant  smoker,  whose  whole  body  was  im- 
pregnated with  tobacco,  like  the  pretended  sea  foam  of  which 
pipes  are  made.  Then  there  was  an  ex-student,  a  candidate 
who  failed  of  the  University  of  Moscow,  and  came  to  the  depths 
of  the  province  as  a  representative  of  radical  opinions,  and  who 
imbibed  the  deep  wisdom  and  high  authority  of  his  doctrines 
from  the  gazettes  and  from  certain  pamphlets  which  he  alone 
knew  where  to  procure.  But  the  association  of  these  men  was 
not  slow  to  prove  fatiguing  to  Tentetnikof.  Their  conversa- 
tion seemed  to  him  to  be  superficial,  and  he  .was  shocked  by 
their  European  freedom  of  manner,  their  almost  incredible 
familiarities.  He  resolved  to  break  these  ties,  and  to  abstain 
from  intimate  acquaintance  with  any  person,  needing  none. 

He  broke  off  with  them  in  a  manner  that  was  scarcely  per- 
missible, even  if  he  had  not  made  a  blunder  of  it.  One  day 
the  one  who  was  the  most  agreeable  of  all  in  these  conversa- 
tions, so  superficial  in  all  things  (conversations  scarcely  tolera- 
ble even  in  our  own  time),  Colonel  Brandorof,  and  with  him 
our  apostle  of  a  new  system  of  ideas,  Barbare  Nicolaewitch 
Vichnepokrovof,  came  to  see  him  and  to  tell  him  some  won- 
derful news  relating  to  politics,  philosophy,  literature,  morals, 
and  even  concerning  the  actual  state  of  the  British  finances. 
He  sent  down  word  that  he  was  absent.  At  the  same  time  he 
had  the  imprudence  to  step  to  the  window.  The  gaze  of  the 
Master  met  that  of  the  Colonel  —  one  of  the  refused  visitors. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  Brandorof  and  his  companion 
were  highly  incensed.  It  is  believed  that  one  of  them,  in  his 
anger,  let  fall  the  word  "  brute ! "  and  that  the  other  so  far 

forgot  himself  as  to  say  distinctly,  "the !  "  Be  this  as  it 

may,  this  finished  all  the  intercourse  between  Tentetnikof  and 
his  neighbors.  He  Avas  glad  to  find  that  his  porte  cochere  was 
never  opened.  Then  it  was  that  he  dreamed  of  his  project  of 
a  preliminary  sketch,  and  meditated  the  preparation  of  a  grand 


TENTETNIKOF  AND  HIS   TEACHERS  409 

work  in  the  future  on  the  subject  of  Russia.  The  reader 
knows  already  how  he  set  about  planning  the  foundation  of 
this  immense  achievement. 

It  could  not  be  said,  however,  that  there  were  nev^r  moments 
when  he  really  aroused  himself  from  his  almost  lethargic  som- 
nolence. When  the  post  brought  to  him  the  gazettes  and  the 
journals,  and  there  fell  under  his  eyes  the  familiar  name  of 
some  old  comrade  who  had  come  into  notice  in  the  service  of 
the  public,  or  who  had  made  some  handsome  contribution  to 
science  or  to  literature,  a  singular  anxiety  stirred  his  heart, 
and  a  silent,  secret  complaint  at  his  sluggishness  caused  his 
lips  to  move  with  an  involuntary  sigh.  Then  his  life  as  a 
backwoods  idler  caused  him  grief  and  shame,  and  with  unusual 
vividness  he  recalled  to  memory  the  days  of  his  school,  that 
appeared  to  him  in  living  presence,  and  before  him  calmly  stood 
the  good  Alexander  Petrovitch.  And  the  young  man's  eyes 
often  were  filled  with  tears. 

What  signified  his  weeping?  Did  his  soul,  awakened  by 
that  voice,  secretly  chiding  for  its  distemper,  reveal  to  him  his 
inner  self  ?  That  the  strong  man  who  had  begun  to  rise  in  him 
was  tied  down,  and  had  not  come  to  maturity?  That,  in  de- 
fault of  overcoming  the  obstacles  and  limitations  of  his  youth,  he 
had  not  attained  to  that  most  desirable  blessing  of  greatness 
and  strength  for  the  contest  which  nature  compels  ?  That, 
heated  like  metal  in  the  furnace,  the  rich  treasure  of  noble 
sentiments  of  his  youth  had  not  reached  the  degree  of  incandes- 
cence? That  his  incomparable  instructor,  his  mentor,  his 
Socrates,  had,  fatally,  quitted  this  low  world  too  soon  ?  That 
there  was  no  longer  on  earth  a  man  who  was  able  to  raise  him 
up  and  to  inspire  again  his  abilities,  nullified  by  long  and  sad 
indecision,  or  his  power  to  will,  deprived  of  all  incentive? 
That  there  was  no  one  to  throw  into  his  soul,  as  an  aAvakening 
cry,  the  electrical  word  "Forward!"  for  which  the  Russian  is 
hungiy,  and  of  which  he  has  need  in  every  degree  of  the  social 
scale,  be  he  soldier,  peasant,  clerk,  sailor,  priest,  merchant, 
statesman,  or  laborer,  serf  or  Lord,  bourgeois  or  Prince  ? 


JOHN   GODFREY   SAXE 

AT  a  meeting  of  the  Alumni  Association  of  Middlebury  College,  Ver- 
mont, in  1842,  a  young  attorney  read  a  poetical  satire  which  at  once  at- 
tracted wide  attention  and  won  the  highest  praise.  The  theme  was  Progress. 
The  poem  was  modeled  upon  the  style  of  Pope,  in  its  metrical  construction, 
and  contained  numerous  classical  allusions  and  imitations.  It  was  a  bright 
play  of  wit,  from  beginning  to  end,  and  its  polished  couplets  flashed  with 
happy  conceits.  It  was  apparent  at  once  that  its  author,  John  G.  Saxe,  was 
a  master  of  poetic  diction,  and  a  wit  with  hardly  a  rival  among  his  Ameri- 
can contemporaries. 

At  this  time  Mr.  Saxe  was  but  thirty  years  of  age,  and  had  enjoyed  only 
a  local  reputation  as  a  writer  of  some  simple  lyrics,  abounding  in  humor. 
His  youth  had  been  passed  among  the  scenes  of  his  native  village,  near  Lake 
Champlain  —  pictures  of  which  are  found  in  some  of  his  minor  poems.  He 
was  a  graduate  of  Middlebury  College,  where  his  rank  as  a  student  was 
high.1 

The  praise  accorded  to  his  writings  did  not  deter  the  poet  from  following 
his  chosen  profession,  and  through  life  he  made  literature  only  a  recreation 
for  idle  hours.  He  was  distinguished  for  his  ability  at  the  bar,  and  was  a 
social  favorite.  In  another  State  he  might  have  won  political  distinction, 
but  in  Vermont,  where  he  resided  until  past  middle  life,  he  was  not  in 
accord  with  the  dominant  political  party.  It  was  considered  one  of  his 
jokes  to  appear  occasionally  as  the  Democratic  candidate  for  Governor,  and 
probably  he  never  expected  to  attain  this  distinction,  though  he  was  person- 
ally a  popular  and  admirable  candidate. 

Saxe  wrote  a  variety  of  travesties  of  classic  narratives,  and  some  minor 
satires,  together  with  a  large  number  of  ballads,  sonnets,  epistles,  and  odes, 
generally  abounding  in  wit  and  humor.  He  was  peculiarly  felicitous  in 
punning,  and  in  the  use  of  odd  expressions.  He  sometimes  affected  the 
archaic  style  of  writing,  as  in  Ye  Peddf/orfue,  and  Ye  Taylor  Man.  He  col- 
lected and  told  in  verse  a  number  of  pithy  narratives  from  the  Orient. 
In  fact,  his  learning  was  marvelous  in  extent,  and  his  versatility  surpris- 

1  The  first  year  of  Mr.  Saxe's  college  course  was  passed  at  Wesleyan  Univer- 
sity, at  Middletown,  Conn.,  allusions  to  which  may  be  found  in  his  minor  poems. 

410 


PROGRESS  411 

ing.  Among  his  more  extended  poems  are  The  Money  King,  The  Proud 
Miss  McBride,  and  Captain  Jones'  Misadventure ;  or,  The  New  Rape  of  the 
Lock. 

The  poems  of  Saxe  were  collected  and  published  in  1859.  Thirty-three 
editions  were  exhausted  within  ten  years,  and  for  a  long  time  thereafter 
their  popularity  did  not  diminish.  Critics  pronounce  the  wit  of  Saxe 
inferior  in  kind  to  that  of  Holmes  and  of  Lowell,  but  of  its  peculiar  class 
he  was  a  master.  As  a  humorist,  he  resembles  Leigh  Hunt  among  the 
British  poets. 

The  latter  life  of  the  poet  was  not  sunshiny.  He  suffered  domestic 
bereavement,  and  was  severely  afflicted  by  disease.  He  died  in  1887  in 
Albany,  N.Y.,  where  he  had  resided  for  a  number  of  years. 

In  Progress  the  teacher  will  find  strictures  on  education  which  are  both 
entertaining  and  instructive. 


PKOGKESS 

A   SATIRE 

In  this,  our  happy  and  "progressive  "  age, 
When  all  alike  ambitious  cares  engage; 
When  beardless  boys  to  sudden  sages  grow, 
And  "Miss  "  her  nurse  abandons  for  a  beau; 
When  for  their  dogmas  Nonresistants  fight, 
When  dunces  lecture,  and  when  dandies  write; 
When  matrons,  seized  with  oratorio  pangs, 
Give  happy  birth  to  masculine  harangues, 
And  spinsters,  trembling  for  the  Nation's  fate, 
Neglect  their  stockings  to  preserve  the  State ; 
When  critic  wits  their  brazen  luster  shed 
On  golden  authors  whom  they  never  read, 
With  parrot  praise  of  "  Roman  grandeur"  speak, 
And  in  bad  English  eulogize  the  Greek ;  — 
When  facts  like  these  no  reprehension  bring, 
May  not,  uncensured,  an  Attorney  sing? 
In  sooth  he  may;  and  though  "unborn  "  to  climb 
Parnassus'  heights,  and  "build  the  lofty  rhyme," 


412  JOHN  GODFEEY  SAXE 

Though  Flaccus 1  fret,  and  warningly  advise 
That  "middling  verses  gods  and  men  despise," 
Yet  will  he  sing,  to  Yankee  license  true, 
In  spite  of  Horace  and  "  Minerva  "  too ! 

My  theme  is  PROGRESS, —  never-tiring  theme 
Of  prosing  dullness,  and  poetic  dream; 
Beloved  of  optimists,  who  still  protest 
Whatever  happens,  happens  for  the  best ; 
Who  prate  of  "  evil "  as  a  thing  unknown, 
A  fancied  color,  or  a  seeming  tone, 
A  vague  chimera  cherished  by  the  dull, 
The  empty  product  of  an  emptier  skull. 
Expert  logicians  they !  —  to  show  at  will, 
By  ill  philosophy,  that  naught  is  ill! 
Should  some  sly  rogue,  the  city's  constant  curse, 
Deplete  your  pocket  and  relieve  your  purse, 
Or  if,  approaching  with  ill-omened  tread, 
Some  bolder  burglar  break  your  house  and  head, 
Hold,  friend,  thy  rage !  Nay,  let  the  rascal  flee ; 
No  evil  has  been  done  the  world  or  thee. 
Here  comes  Philosophy,  will  make  it  plain, 
Thy  seeming  loss  is  universal  gain ! 
"Thy  heap  of  gold  was  clearly  grown  too  great, — 
'Twere  best  the  poor  should  share  thy  large  estate; 
While  misers  gather,  that  the  knaves  should  steal 
Is  most  conducive  to  the  general  weal; 
Thus  thieves  the  wrongs  of  avarice  efface, 
And  stand  the  friends  and  stewards  of  the  race; 
Thus  every  moral  ill  but  serves,  in  fact, 
Some  other  equal  ill  to  counteract. " 
Sublime  Philosophy!     Benignant  light! 
Which  sees  in  every  pair  of  wrongs,  a  right; 
Which  finds  no  evil  or  in  sin  or  pain, 
And  proves  that  Decalogues  are  writ  in  vain! 

1  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus,  the  Latin  lyric  poet,  commonly  known  as  Horace. 


PROGRESS  413 

Hail,  mighty  PROGRESS!     Loftiest  we  find 
Thy  stalking  strides  in  science  of  the  mind. 
What  boots  it  now  that  Locke  was  learned  and  wise  ? 
What  boots  it  now  that  men  have  ears  and  eyes? 
"Pure  Reason,"  in  their  stead,  now  hears  and  sees, 
And  walks  apart  in  statel}'  scorn  of  these ; 
Laughs  at  "experience,"  spurns  "induction"  hence, 
Scouting  "the  senses,"  and  transcending  sense. 
No  more  shall  flippant  ignorance  inquire 
"If  German  breasts  may  feel  poetic  fire," 
Nor  German  dullness  write  ten  folios  full, 
To  show,  for  once,  that  Dutchmen  are  not  dull.1 
For  here  Philosophy,  acute,  refined, 
Sings  all  the  marvels  of  the  human  mind, 
In  strains  so  passing  "  dainty  sweet "  to  hear, 
That  e'en  the  nursery  turns  a  ravished  ear! 
Here  Wit  and  Fancy  in  scholastic  bowers 
Twine  beauteous  wreaths  of  metaphysic  flowers ; 
Here  Speculation  pours  her  dazzling  light, 
Here  grand  Invention  wings  a  daring  flight, 
And  soars,  ambitious,  to  the  lofty  moon, 
Whence,  haply,  freighted  with  some  precious  boon, 
Some  old  "  Philosophy  "  in  fog  incased, 
Or  new  "Religion "  for  the  changing  taste, 
She  straight  descends  to  Learning's  blest  abodes, 
Just  simultaneous  with  the  Paris  modes ! 
Here  Plato's  dogmas  eloquently  speak, 
Not  as  of  yore,  in  grand  and  graceful  Greek, 
But  (quite  beyond  the  dreaming  sage's  hope 
Of  future  glory  in  his  fancy's  scope), 
Translated  down,  as  by  some  wizard's  touch, 
Find  "  immortality  "  in  good  high  Dutch ! 


1  Allusion  is  here  made  to  the  ponderous  work  of  Kramer,  a  German,  which 
was  written  in  reply  to  the  brief  question  of  Pere  Bonhours,  as  to  whether 
a  German  could  be  a  wit. 


414  JOHN   GODFREY  SAXE 

Happy  the  youth,  in  this  our  golden  age, 
Condemned  no  more  to  con  the  prosy  page 
Of  Locke  and  Bacon,  antiquated  fools, 
Now  justly  banished  from  our  moral  schools. 
By  easier  modes  philosophy  is  taught, 
Than  through  the  medium  of  laborious  thought. 
Imagination  kindly  serves  instead, 
And  saves  the  pupil  many  an  aching  head. 
Room  for  the  sages !     Hither  comes  a  throng 
Of  blooming  Platos,  trippingly  along. 
In  dress,  how  fitted  to  beguile  the  fair! 
What  intellectual,  stately  heads  —  of  hair! 
Hark  to  the  Oracle !  —  to  Wisdom's  tone, 
Breathed  in  a  fragrant  zephyr  of  Cologne. 
That  boy  in  gloves,  the  leader  of  the  van, 
Talks  of  the  "outer"  and  the  "inner  man," 
And  knits  his  girlish  brow  in  stout  resolve 
Some  mountain-sized  "idea"  to  "evolve." 
Delusive  toil !     Thus  in  their  infant  days, 
When  children  mimic  manly  deeds  in  plays, 
Long  will  they  sit,  and  eager  "  bob  for  whale  " 
Within  the  ocean  of  a  water-pail ! 
The  next,  whose  looks  unluckily  reveal 
The  ears  portentous  that  his  locks  conceal, 
Prates  of  the  "orbs,"  with  such  a  knowing  frown, 
You  deem  he  puffs  some  lithographic  town 
In  Western  wilds,  where  yet  unbroken  ranks 
Of  thrifty  beavers  build  unchartered  "banks," 
And  prowling  panthers  occupy  the  lots 
Adorned  with  churches,  on  the  paper  plots ! 


But  ah !     What  suffering  harp  is  this  we  hear  ? 
What  jarring  sounds  invade  the  wounded  ear? 
Who  o'er  the  lyre  a  hand  spasmodic  flings, 
And  grinds  harsh  discords  from  the  tortured  strings  ? 


PROGRESS  415 

The  Sacred  Muses,  at  the  sound  dismayed, 
Retreat  disordered  to  their  native  shade, 
And  Phoebus  hastens  to  his  high  abode, 
And  Orpheus  -frowns  to  hear  an  "  Orphic  ode !  " 

Talk  not,  ye  jockeys,  of  the  wondrous  speed 
That  marks  your  Northern  or  your  Southern  steed ; 
See  Progress  fly  o'er  Education's  course! 
Not  far-famed  Derby  owns  a  fleeter  horse! 
On  rare  Improvement's  "  short  and  easy  "  road, 
How  swift  her  flight  to  Learning's  blest  abode! 
In  other  times  —  'twas  many  years  ago  — 
The  scholar's  course  was  toilsome,  rough,  and  slow; 
The  fair  Humanities  were  sought  in  tears, 
And  came,  the  trophy  of  laborious  years. 
Now  Learning's  shrine  each  idle  youth  may  seek, 
And,  spending  there  a  shilling  and  a  week 
(At  lightest  cost  of  study,  cash,  and  lungs), 
Come  back,  like  Rumor,  with  a  hundred  tongues ! 

What  boots  such  progress,  when  the  golden  load 
From  heedless  haste  is  lost  upon  the  road? 
When  each  great  science,  to  the  student's  pace, 
Stands  like  the  wicket  in  a  hurdle  race, 
Which  to  o'erleap  is  all  the  courser's  mind, 
And  all  his  glory  that  'tis  left  behind! 

Nor  less,  O  Progress,  are  thy  newest  rules 
Enforced  and  honored  in  the  "Ladies'  Schools;" 
Where  Education,  in  its  nobler  sense, 
Gives  place  to  Learning's  shallowest  pretense ; 
Where  hapless  maids,  in  spite  of  wish  or  taste, 
On  vain  "accomplishments  "  their  moments  waste; 
By  cruel  parents  here  condemned  to  wrench 
Their  tender  throats  in  mispronouncing  French; 


416  JOHN   GODFREY  SAXE 

Here  doomed  to  force,  by  unrelenting  knocks, 

Reluctant  music  from  a  tortured  box ; 

Here  taught,  in  inky  shades  and  rigid  lines, 

To  perpetrate  equivocal  "  designs  "  ; 

"  Drawings  "  that  prove  their  title  plainly  true, 

By  showing  nature  "  drawn,"  and  "  quartered  "  too  ! 

In  ancient  times,  I've  heard  my  grandam  tell, 

Young  maids  were  taught  to  read  and  write  and  spell ; 

(Neglected  arts,  once  learned  by  rigid  rules, 

As  prime  essentials  in  the  "  common  schools  ") ; 

Well  taught  beside  in  many  a  useful  art 

To  mend  the  manners  and  improve  the  heart; 

Nor  yet  unskilled  to  turn  the  busy  wheel, 

To  ply  the  shuttle,  and  to  twirl  the  reel ; 

Could  thrifty  tasks  with  cheerful  grace  pursue, 

Themselves  "accomplished,"  and  their  duties  too. 

Of  tongues,  each  maiden  had  but  one,  'tis  said 

(Enough,  'twas  though,  to  serve  a  lady's  head), 

But  that  was  English, —  great  and  glorious  tongue 

That  Chatham  spoke,  and  Milton,  Shakspeare  sung! 

Let  thoughts  too  idle  to  be  fitly  dressed 

In  sturdy  Saxon  be  in  French  expressed; 

Let  lovers  breathe  Italian, —  like,  in  sooth, 

Its  singers,  soft,  emasculate,  and  smooth; 

But  for  a  tongue  whose  ample  powers  embrace 

Beauty  and  force,  sublimity  and  grace, 

Ornate  or  plain,  harmonious,  yet  strong, 

And  formed  alike  for  eloquence  and  song, 

Give  me  the  English, —  aptest  tongue  to  paint 

A  sage  or  dunce,  a  villain  or  a  saint^ 

To  spur  the  slothful,  counsel  the  distressed, 

To  lash  the  oppressor,  and  to  soothe  the  oppressed, 

To  lend  fantastic  Humor  freest  scope 

To  marshal  all  his  laughter-loving  troop, 

Give  Pathos  power,  and  Fancy  lightest  wings, 

And  Wit  his  merriest  whims  and  keenest  stings! 


PROGRESS  417 

The  march  of  Progress  let  the  Muse  explore 
In  pseudo-science  and  empiric  lore. 
O  sacred  Science !    How  art  thou  profaned, 
When  shallow  quacks  and  vagrants,  unrestrained, 
Flaunt  in  thy  robes,  and  vagabonds  are  known 
To  brawl  thy  name,  who  never  wrote  their  own ; 
When  crazy  theorists  their  addled  schemes 
(Unseemly  product  of  dyspeptic  dreams) 
Impute  to  thee !  —  as  courtesans  of  yore 
Their  spurious  bantlings  left  at  Mars's  door; 
When  each  projector  of  a  patent  pill, 
Or  happy  founder  of  a  coffee-mill, 
Invokes  thine  aid  to  celebrate  his  wares, 
And  crown  with  gold  his  philanthropic  cares; 
Thus  Islam's  hawkers  piously  proclaim 
Their  figs  and  pippins  in  the  Prophet's  name ! 

******** 

'Tis  thus  that  modern  "  sciences  "  are  made 
By  bold  assumption,  puffing,  and  parade. 
Take  three  stale  "  truths  " ;  a  dozen  "  facts,"  assumed ; 
Two  known  "  effects,"  and  fifty  more  presumed ; 
"  Affinities  "  a  score,  to  sense  unknown, 
And,  just  as  "  lucus  non  lucendo  "  l  shown, 
Add  but  a  name  of  pompous  Anglo-Greek, 
And  only  not  impossible  jbo  speak, 
The  work  is  done,  a  "  science  "  stands  confessed, 
And  countless  welcomes  greet  the  queenly  guest. 

******** 

Hail,  Social  Progress !    Each  new  moon  is  rife 
With  some  new  theory  of  social  life, 
Some  matchless  scheme  ingeniously  designed 
From  half  their  miseries  to  free  mankind ; 

1  This  is  a  hit  on  etymology,  which,  because  the  Latin  word  lucus  (meaning 
a  dark  grove)  is  derived  from  the  same  root  as  lucere  (meaning  to  shine,  or  to 
be  light)  assumes  that  lucus  must  be  a  non  lucendo  (from  not  being  light'), 
SCH.  IN  COM,  —  27 


418  JOHN   GODFREY  SAXE 

On  human  wrongs  triumphant  war  to  wage, 
And  bring  anew  the  glorious  golden  age. 
"Association"  is  the  magic  word 
From  many  a  social  "  priest  and  prophet "  heard, 
"Attractive  Labor"  is  the  angel  given, 
To  render  earth  a  sublunary  Heaven ! 
"Attractive  Labor!  "    Ring  the  changes  round, 
And  labor  grows  attractive  in  the  sound; 
And  many  a  youthful  mind,  where  haply  lurk 
Unwelcomed  fancies  at  the  name  of  "work," 
Sees  pleasant  pastime  in  its  longing  view 
Of  "toil  made  easy"  and  "attractive  "  too, 
And,  fancy-rapt,  with  joyful  ardor,  turns 
Delightful  grindstones  and  seductive  churns! 
"Men  are  not  bad,"  these  social  sages  preach; 
"Men  are  not  what  their  actions  seem  to  teach; 
No  moral  ill  is  natural  or  fixed, — 
Men  only  err  by  being  badly  mixed!  " 
To  them  the  world  a  huge  plum-pudding  seems, 
Made  up  of  richest  viands,  fruits,  and  creams, 
Which  of  all  choice  ingredients  partook, 
And  then  was  ruined  by  a  blundering  cook ! 

Inventive  France !    What  wonder-working  schemes 
Astound  the  world  whene'er  a  Frenchman  dreams! 
What  fine-spun  theories, —  ingenious,  new, 
Sublime,  stupendous,  everything  but  true ! 
One  little  favor,  O  "  Imperial  France !  " 
Still  teach  the  world  to  cook,  to  dress,  to  dance ; 
Let,  if  thou  wilt,  thy  boots  and  barbers  roam, 
But  keep  thy  morals  and  thy  creeds  at  home! 

O  might  the  Muse  prolong  her  flowing  rhyme 
(Too  closely  cramped  by  unrelenting  Time, 
Whose  dreadful  scythe  swings  heedlessly  along, 
And,  missing  speeches,  clips  the  thread  of  song). 


PROGRESS  419 

How  would  she  strive,  in  fitting  verse,  to  sing 
The  wondrous  progress  of  the  printing  king ! 
Bibles  and  novels,  treatises  and  songs, 
Lectures  on  "  rights  "  and  strictures  upon  wrongs ; 
Verse  in  all  meters,  travels  in  all  climes, 
Rhymes  without  reason,  sonnets  without  rhymes ; 
"  Translations  from  the  French, "  so  vilely  done, 
The  wheat,  escaping,  leaves  the  chaff  alone; 
Memoirs,  where  dunces  sturdily  essay 
To  cheat  Oblivion  of  her  certain  prey ; 
Critiques,  where  pedants  vauntingly  expose 
Unlicensed  verses,  in  unlawful  prose ; 
Lampoons,  whose  authors  strive  in  vain  to  throw 
Their  headless  arrows  from  a  nerveless  bow ; 
Poems  by  youths,  who,  crossing  Nature's  will, 
Harangue  the  landscape  they  were  born  to  till; 
Huge  tomes  of  law,  that  lead  by  rugged  routes 
Through  ancient  dogmas  down  to  modern  doubts ; 
Where  Judges  oft,  with  well-affected  ease, 
Give  learned  reasons  for  absurd  decrees, 
Or,  more  ingenious  still,  contrive  to  found 
Some  just  decision  on  fallacious  ground, 
Or  blink  the  point,  and,  haply,  in  its  place, 
Moot  and  decide  some  hypothetic  case ; 
Smart  Epigrams,  all  sadly  out  of  joint, 
And  pointless, —  save  the  "exclamation  point," 
Which  stands  in  state,  with  vacant  wonder  fraught, 
The  pompous  tombstone  of  some  pauper  thought ; 
Ingenious  systems  based  on  doubtful  facts, 
"Tracts  for  the  Times,"  and  most  untimely  tracts; 
Polemic  pamphlets,  literary  toys, 
And  Easy  Lessons  for  uneasy  boys; 
Hebdomadal  Gazettes,  and  Daily  News, 
Gay  Magazines,  and  Quarterly  Reviews ;  — 
Small  portion  these*  of  all  the  vast  array 
Of  darkened  leaves  that  cloud  each  passing  day, 


420  JOHN   GODFREY  SAXE 

And  pour  their  tide  unceasingly  along, 

A  gathering,  swelling,  overwhelming  throng! 

Cease,  O  my  Muse,  nor,  indiscreet,  prolong 
To  epic  length  thy  unambitious  song. 
Good  friends,  be  gentle  to  a  maiden  Muse, 
Her  errors  pardon,  and  her  faults  excuse. 
Not  uninvited  to  her  task  she  came, 
To  sue  for  favor,  not  to  seek  for  fame. 
Be  this,  at  least,  her  just  though  humble  praise: 
No  stale  excuses  heralded  her  lays, 
No  singer's  trick, —  conveniently  to  bring 
A  sudden  cough,  when  importuned  to  sing; 
No  deprecating  phrases,  learned  by  rote, — 
"  She'd  quite  forgot,"  or  "never  knew  a  note." — 
But  to  her  task,  with  ready  zeal,  addressed 
Her  earnest  care,  and  aimed  to  do  her  best ; 
Strove  to  be  just  in  each  satiric  word, 
To  doubtful  wit  undoubted  truth  preferred, 
To  please  and  profit  equally  has  aimed, 
Nor  been  ill-natured,  even  when  she  blamed. 


THOMAS  WILLIAM   ROBERTSON 

FAMILIAR  to  all  lovers  of  the  dramatic  art  in  the  United  States  and  in 
the  United  Kingdom  is  the  name  of  this  prince  of  later  dramatists,  "  the 
most  successful  and  distinguished  writer  of  plays  in  his  generation."  His 
early  life  was  unpromising,  and,  indeed,  he  seemed  scarcely  to  have  known 
success  or  popularity  until  within  seven  years  of  his  untimely  death.  His 
career  was  brief,  but  brilliant  at  its  close.  For  a  quarter-century  there  was 
probably  not  a  week  —  perhaps  not  a  night  — when  some  of  his  dramas 
were  not  produced  in  English  theaters ;  and  in  our  own  country  his  crea- 
tions were  among  the  most  familiar  in  the  repertory  of  the  stage. 

Thomas  William  Robertson  was  born  in  1829.  He  was  the  son  of  a 
traveling  actor  and  theatrical  manager,  and  from  his  earliest  youth  was 
familiar  with  dramas  and  with  actors.  He  enjoyed  some  educational  advan- 
tages. He  essayed  the  role  of  an  actor,  but  was  not  remarkably  successful 
in  it.  In  1860  he  went  to  London,  and  soon  after  became  editor  of  a  mining 
journal.  He  wrote  a  farce  entitled  A  Cantab,  which  was  produced  at  the 
Strand  Theater,  but  was  not  well  received.  Nothing  daunted,  he  continued 
to  write  for  the  dramatic  press. 

In  1864  he  achieved  sudden  distinction  by  the  success  of  his  drama 
David  Garrick,  which  was  brought  out  at  the  Haymarket  Theater,  in  Lon- 
don, the  principal  part  being  borne  by  the  matchless  Sothern.  Society, 
another  popular  piece,  was  first  played  in  the  following  year,  at  the  Prince 
of  Wales  Theater.  Ours  quickly  followed,  and  was  produced  in  1866. 
Caste,  in  which  the  American  actress  Olive  Logan  excelled,  was  a  success 
of  the  year  1868.  School  appeared  in  1869,  and  M.  P.  in  1870. 

School  was  first  presented  in  the  Prince  of  Wales  Theater,  January  16th, 
1869,  the  parts  of  Dr.  Sutcliffe  and  Bella  being  taken,  respectively,  by  Mr. 
and  Miss  Addison.  Two  months  later  it  was  brought  out  in  Wallack's 
Theater,  in  New  York. 

The  life  of  Robertson  was  suddenly  terminated  in  1871,  when  he  was  at 
the  height  of  his  fame.  When  read,  his  dramas  are  apt  to  prove  disap- 
pointing. Much  of  their  phenomenal  success  has  been  due,  doubtless,  to 
the  superior  merits  of  many  of  the  actors  who  have  appeared  in  them ;  and 
despite  their  celebrity  for  the  time,  it  is  not  likely  that  they  will  have  a 
permanent  place  in  dramatic  literature. 

421 


422  THOMAS   WILLIAM  ROBERTSON 

SCHOOL 
A  DRAMA  IN  FOUR  ACTS 

(Abbreviated) 
DRAMATIS  PERSONS 

DR.  SUTCLIFFE,  proprietor  of  the  school. 
MR.  KRUX,  a  teacher. 
LORD  BEAUFOY, 


BEAU  FARINTOSH, 


»•  Visitors  to  the  school. 


JACK  POYNTZ, 

MRS.  SUTOCIFFE,  matron  of  the  school. 

BELLA  MARKS,  an  assistant  and  student. 

NAOMI  TIGHE, ' 

TILLY, 

MlLLY, 


LAURA, 
CLARA, 
KITTY, 
HETTY, 


>•  Students. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE.  —  A  glade  in  a  forest.  Bella  discovered  standing  on  a 
sloping  bank,  under  a  large  tree.  Naomi  seated,  wearing  a  gar- 
land of  wild  flowers.  Tilly  and  Clara.  Milly  and  Hetty 
behind  Naomi  and  Tilly.  Little  child.  Laura  asleep  against 
branch  of  a  tree. 

Bella.  And  her  two  haughty  sisters  stepped  into  a  beautiful 
carriage,  and  drove  towards  the  palace  ;  and  when  they  were 
out  of  sight,  Cinderella J  sat  down  in  a  corner  and  began  to  cry. 
Her  godmother  asked  her  what  ailed  her.  "  I  wish  —  I  wish," 
—  said  Cinderella,  but  she  sobbed  so  she  couldn't  say  another 

1  The  story  of  Cinderella  is  of  very  high  antiquity,  and  originated,  probably, 
in  the  Orient.  It  is  always  delightful  to  children,  and  is  now  related  to  them  in 
many  primary  schools,  as  a  subject  for  moral  lessons. 


SCHOOL  423 

word.  The  godmother  said,  "You  wish  to  go  to  the  ball." 
(Imitating  a  godmother. )  Now  this  godmother  was  a  fairy. 

Naomi.     I  wish  my  godmother  had  been  a  fairy. 

Grirls.     Hush !     Silence ! 

Naomi.  Girls  without  fathers  or  mothers  ought  to  have 
fairies  for  godmothers,  to  make  up  for  the  loss. 

Bella.  "  Be  a  good  girl,"  said  the  fairy  godmother,  "  and 
you  shall  go.'*  "But,"  said  poor  Cinderella,  "I  can't  go,  for 
Fy6  no  things  fit  to  go  in." 

Grirls.     Poor  girl !     (  With  deep  sympathy. ) 

Naomi.     If  I  hadn't  nice  dresses,  I  should  die. 

Grirls.     Hush ! 

Bella.  " Run  into  the  garden,"  said  the  fairy  godmother,  "and 
bring  me  a  pumpkin. "  Cinderella  brought  a  pumpkin,  and  her 
godmother  scooped  out  the  inside. 

Hetty  (eagerly).     Was  it  nice  ? 

Bella.  The  godmother  scooped  out  the  inside,  leaving  noth- 
ing but  the  rind ;  she  then  touched  it  with  her  wand,  and  the 
pumpkin  instantly  turned  into  a  fine  coach,  gilded  all  over  with 
gold. 

Hetty.     Bravo,  pumpkin ! 

Grirls.     Hush !     Go  on,  Bella. 

Bella.  Then  Cinderella  looked  into  the  mousetrap,  where 
she  found  six  mice,  all  alive  and  kicking. 

Naomi  (with  a  shudder).     I  hate  mice. 

Laura  (Awaking  up).  Whenever  I  think  of  mice  they  make 
me  feel  quite  sleepy.  (Groes  to  sleep.) 

Bella.  Cinderella  lifted  the  door  of  the  trap  very  gently,  and 
the  fairy  godmother  touched  the  mice,  and  they  turned  into 
beautiful  horses,  of  a  fine  dapple  gray  mouse  color. 

Girls.     Oh ! 

Bella.     Then  the  fairy  turned  two  rats  into  postilions. 

G-irls.     Oh! 

Bella.     And  six  lizards  into  six  footmen. 

Grirls.     Six  —  my  I 

Bella.     "  There,"  said  the  godmother,  "  there  is   an   equi- 


424  THOMAS  WILLIAM 

page."  "Yes,"  said  Cinderella,  crying  hard,  pointing  to  her1 
nasty,  ugly  gray  dress,  "but  I  can't  go  in  these  filthy  rags." 
Then  her  godmother  touched  her  with  her  wand,  and  her  rags 
instantly  became  the  most  magnificent  ball  dress  that  ever  was 
seen,  — 

Girh.     Oh ! 

Bella.     Covered  with  the  most  costly  jewels. 

Girh.     Oh ! 

Naomi.     I  should  like  to  be  godmothered  in  that  way. 

Bella.  To  these  were  added  a  beautiful  pair  of  glass  slip- 
pers. Then  Cinderella,  seated  in  her  beautiful  coach,  drove  off 
to  the  palace. 

Naomi  (sings).     Gee  up,  gee  oh  ! 

Bella.     As  soon  as  she  arrived,  the  King's  son  — 

G-irls.     The  King's  son  ! 

Bella.     A  most  beautiful  young  man  — 

Hetty.     This  is  interesting. 

Bella.  Presented  himself  at  the  door  of  her  carriage,  and 
helped  her  to  alight. 

Hetty.     I  should  like  to  be  helped  twice  to  a  King's  son. 

G-irls.     Silence ! 

Bella.  The  Prince  then  conducted  her  to  the  place  of  honor, 
and  soon  after  took  her  out  to  dance  with  him. 

Girh.     Oh ! 

Clara.     Think  of  that  —  a  Prince  ! 

Naomi.     Hetty  would  like  to  eat  a  Prince,  wouldn't  you  ? 

Tilly.     So  should  I. 

Clara.     So  should  we  all. 

Bella.     The  Prince  fell  in  love  with  her. 

Girh.     Oh ! 

Tilly.  Why  shouldn't  he  ?  I  suppose  Princes  fall  in  love, 
the  same  as  common  people  — 

Hetty.     But  they  don't  do  it  the  same  way. 

Naomi.     Go  on,  Bella.     The  Prince  fell  in  love. 

Clara.     What  is  love  ? 

Milly.     You  stupid  thing ! 


Bbnoot  425 

Tilly,     Such  ignorance ! 

Hetty.     That  stupid  Clara  ! 

Clara.  I  don't  believe  any  of  you  know ;  not  even  you  big 
girls. 

Tilly.     Everybody  knows  what  love  is. 

Clara.     Then  what  is  it? 

Naomi.  Who's  got  a  Dictionary?  You're  sure  to  find  it 
there. 

Tilly.  My  eldest  sister  says  it's  the  only  place  in  which  you 
can  find  it. 

Hetty.     Then  she's  been  jilted. 

Milly.     My  pa  says  love  is  moonshine. 

Naomi.     Then  how  sweet  and  mellow  it  must  be. 

Milly.     Particularly  when  the  moon  is  at  the  full. 

Naomi.     And  there's  no  eclipse. 

Tilly.     It  seems  that  nobody  knows  what  love  is. 

Hetty.     I  despise  such  ignorance. 

Clara.  Then  why  don't  they  teach  it  us?  We've  a  music 
master  to  teach  music,  why  not  a  love  master  to  teach  love  ? 

Naomi.  You  don't  suppose  love  is  to  be  taught  like  geogra- 
phy or  the  use  of  the  globes,  do  you  ?  No,  love  is  an  extra. 

Tilly.     Perhaps  it  comes  naturally.     Ask  Laura  what  love  is. 

Clara  (touching  Laura,  who  is  asleep}.     Laura,  what  is  love? 

Laura  (waking}.    J'aime,  I  love — tu  aimes —      (All  laugh.} 

(Enter  Mrs.  Sutcliffe.      Grirls  rise  and  courtesy.} 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.  Well,  young  ladies,  what  is  the  cause  of 
your  merriment  ?  What  is  the  subject  under  discussion  ? 

Naomi.     Governess,  we  wish  you  to  tell  us  something. 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe,     What  is  it,  Dear? 

Naomi.     What  is  love  ? 

airls.     Yes.     What  is  love  ? 

Child.     Yes.     What  is  love  ? 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe  (dumfounded} .  What  is  love?  I  —  I  —  Here 
is  the  Doctor. 


426  THOMAS    WILLIAM   ROBEliTSON 

(Enter  Dr.  Sutcliffe.} 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.  Doctor,  I  have  just  had  a  most  extraordinary 
question  proposed  to  me. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     Indeed,  Dear. 

Naomi.     Yes,  Doctor,  what  is  love  ? 

All  the  Grirls.     Yes,  Doctor,  what  is  love  ? 

Child.     Yes,  Doctor,  what  is  love  ? 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.  What  is  love  ?  The  cuneiform  inscriptions  on 
the  Babylonian  marbles  have  been  only  recently  deciphered, 
so  I  will  answer  according  to  the  comparatively  modern  notions 
of  the  Greeks.  By  them  love  was  called  E'ros,  but  there  were 
three  separate  Ero'tes.  There  was  the  Eros  of  the  ancient 
cosmogonies.  He'siod,  the  earliest  author  who  mentioned  him, 
calls  him  the  cosmog'onic  Eros.  In  Plato's  Symposium  he  is 
described  as  the  eldest  of  the  Gods.  Then  there  was  the  Eros 
of  the  philosophers,  and  lastly  the  Eros  of  the  later  degenerate 
Greek  poets,  who  said  erroneously  that  he  was  the  youngest  of 
the  Gods.  The  parentage  of  Eros,  or  Cupid,  is  doubtful.  It 
is  generally  assumed  that  he  was  the  son  of  Zeus,  —  that  is, 
Jupiter  —  and  of  Aphrodi'te,  —  that  is,  Venus  (Mrs.  Sutcliffe 
coughs)  —  so  that  he  was  both  the  son  and  the  grandson  of  — 
(Mrs.  Sutcliffe  coughs.}  That  is  love  !  I  mention  these  facts 
because  I  am  about  to  say  no  more  upon  the  subject.1 

Naomi.     I  know  what  love  is. 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe  (aside).     Goodness  forpid ! 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     How  forward  the  child  is. 

Naomi  (talcing  Bella's  hand,  who  has  dropped  down  on  her). 
I  love  Bella,  and  Bella  loves  me  ;  don't  you  Bella  ? 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.  We  all  love  Bella.  It  is  impossible  to  know 
her  without  loving  her.  Goodness  and  amiability  must  com- 
mand affection  and  esteem. 


1  Dr.  Sutcliffe,  like  many  another  teacher,  is  willing  to  air  his  erudition  upon 
the  slightest  pretext,  and  has  to  be  coughed  down.  The  style  and  manner  of 
a  pundit  do  not  add  to  the  value  of  a  teacher. 


SCHOOL  427 

Naomi.     He  talks  just  like  a  copy  book,  doesn't  he  ? 

Dr.  Sutcliffe  (taking  her  hand).  And  I  suppose,  Bella,  my 
child  (Mrs.  Sutcliffe  coughs),  that  you  are  going  to  aid  the 
young  ladies  in  their  botanical  researches? 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.  Yes,  young  ladies,  if  you  have  sufficiently 
reposed  yourselves  from  your  walk  across  the  meadow,  you  can 
resume  your  self-imposed  labor. 

Grirls  (going  and  singing). 

Through  the  wood,  through  the  wood,  follow  and  find  me, 

Search  every  hollow  and  dingle  and  dell ; 

I  leave  not  the  print  of  a  footstep  behind  me, 

So  they  who  would  search  for  must  look  for  me  well. 

(Grirls  walk  off.} 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.  It  is  an  extraordinary  thing,  Doctor,  that, 
despite  all  my  remonstrances,  you  will  constantly  show  your 
too  obvious  preference  for  that  girl,  Bella.  It  has  a  most 
injurious  effect  upon  the  other  pupils. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.  My  Dear,  she  is  an  orphan  without  friends 
or  protection,  dependent  entirely  on  us,  —  that  sad  social 
anomaly,  a  pupil  teacher,  less  self-reliant  than  a  servant 
and  only  half  a  lady.  Then  poor  Bella  is  so  pretty  and  so 
young  — 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe  (sits).  Ah!  There  it  is,  so  young!  (Nearly 
weeping.)  Cruel  Theodore,  to  remind  me  of  my  lost  youth ! 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.  Amanthis,  my  Love,  that  was  far  from  my 
intention.  You  are  too  sensitive. 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.  Your  thoughts  are  ever  fixed  on  the  fleeting 
and  unsubstantial  charms  of  youth  and  beauty. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     No,  no,  no,  no. 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.  Yes,  yes,  yes,  yes.  Do  you  not  remember 
five-and-thirty  years  ago? 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     Amanthis,  to  recall  that  error  of  my  youth  - 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.     It  is  always  present  to  my  mind. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.  My  Love,  I  only  danced  with  her  three  times, 
and  it  is  five-and-thirty  years  ago. 


428  THOMAS   WILLIAM  ROBERTSON 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.  I  remember  we  had  been  scarcely  married 
seven  years. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.  Since  then  you  have  been  constantly  reproach- 
ing me. 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.     It  seems  but  as  yesterday. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     It  seems  to  me  much  longer. 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.     Ah,  Theodore,  unfeeling  — 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.  No,  no,  Amanthis,  I  did  not  mean  that.  I 
meant  that  five-and-thirty  years'  conjugal  serenity  ought  to 
compensate  for  dancing  with  a  young  lady  three  times  at  a  ball, 
where,  from  the  fault  of  hosts  too  hospitable,  the  negus  had  been 
made  too  strong.  Come,  Amanthis,  don't  be  hard  on  Theodore. 
Think  what  Jason  says : 

Credula  res  amor  est  — 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.     Credula  res  amor  est.     Utinam  temeraria  dicar 
Criminibus  falsis  insimulasse  virum.1 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.  Insimulasse  virum  —  the  contraction  for  the 
pentameter. 

(Enter  Krux,  reading  a  book.') 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.  Ah,  Mr.  Krux,  are  you  enjoying  this  beau- 
tiful day  ? 

Krux.     No,  Sir,  I  was  enjoying  this  beautiful  book. 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe  (rising^).     What  is  it? 

Krux.     Hervey's  Meditations  among  the  Tombs? 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     Rather  a  serious  work. 

Krux.  Not  to  my  taste,  Sir.  This  splendid  sky,  the  flashing 
brook,  the  verdant  meadow,  these  rustling  trees,  and  sweetly 
singing  birds,  all  turn  my  thoughts  unto  the  grave. 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.     Good  gracious ! 

1  Love  is  a  credulous  thing.     May  I  be  pronounced  rash  to  accuse  my  hus- 
band on  a  false  charge.  —  Ovid's  Hypsipyle  to  Jason. 

2  James  Hervey's  Meditations  and  Contemplations  was  atone  time  very  popu- 
lar in  England.     It  was  found  in  most  English  cottages  by  the  side  of  the  Bible 
and  Pilgrim's  Progress. 


SCHOOL  429 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.  It  turns  my  thoughts  to  nothing  of  the  kind. 
On  the  contrary,  it  sends  them  back  to  years  when  — 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.  Not  thirty-five  years,  Theodore.  (Aside  to 
him.} 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.  No,  Amanthis,  not  thirty-five  —  to  thirty-four 
or  thirty-six,  but  not  to  thirty-five.  Come,  let  us  join  the 
pupils.  For  the  present,  Mr.  Krux.  (Bows;  aside,  going.} 
Prig !  I  can't  bear  prigs,  particularly  young  prigs. 

(Exeunt  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Sutcliffe.} 

Krux.  Upstarts  !  I  hate  those  people  ;  but  then  I  hate  most 
people.  I  think  I  hate  most  things,  except  Bella,  and  when  I 
look  at  her  I  feel  that  I  could  bite  her.  Here  she  is. 

(Enter  Bella,  reading  a  book.} 

Krux.     Bella,  where  are  you  going  ? 

Bella.     Mrs.  Sutcliffe  has  sent  me  to  fetch  her  goloshes.1 

Krux.     Stay  one  moment.     Sit  down.     (Sits  on  branch.} 

Bella.     Mrs.  Sutcliffe  told  me  I  was  not  to  loiter. 

Krux.     What  are  you  reading  ? 

Bella.     A  fairy  tale.     What  are  you  reading  ? 

Krux.  Hervey's  Meditations.  A  different  sort  of  literature. 
Do  sit  down.  (  Bella  sits  on  branch.  } 

Bella  (reads}.  "The  King's  son,  the  handsome  young 
Prince,  was  continually  by  her  side,  and  said  to  her  the  most 
obliging  things  imaginable." 

Krux.  What  a  beastly  world  this  is,  Bella,  isn't  it  ?  Attend 
to  me  for  a  short  time,  I  want  to  speak  to  you  very  particu- 
larly. 

Bella.     Be  quick,  then. 

Krux.     Dr.  and  Mrs.  Sutcliffe  are  getting  very  old. 

Bella.     They  are  not  getting  old  ;  they  are  old. 

Krux.     And,  therefore,  must  soon  die. 

Bella.     Oh,  Mr.  Krux,  what  a  dreadful  notion  ! 

1  Overshoes, 


430  THOMAS    WILLIAM    ROBERTSON 

Krux.  We  are  all  worms  —  particularly  the  Doctor  and  Mrs. 
Sutcliffe.  All  men  must  die  sometimes,  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Sutcliffe 
included. 

Bella.     Mrs.  Sutcliffe  isn't  a  man. 

Krux.  She  ought  to  have  been.  But  as  I  was  saying,  Bella, 
when  they  are  dead  and  buried  — 

Bella.     Mr.  Krux  ! 

Krux.  They  will  be  no  longer  able  to  keep  on  the  school, 
will  they  ?  Then  who  is  to  keep  on  the  school,  eh  ? 

Bella.     I  don't  know.     I  don't  like  to  think  of  such  things. 

Krux.  I  do.  I  repeat,  who  is  to  keep  on  the  school  ?  I  am 
the  only  resident  master.  I  am  known  to  all  the  pupils. 

Bella.     Alas,  yes  ! 

Krux.     I  am  known,  and,  I  hope,  loved. 

Bella.     No,  feared. 

Krux.  It's  the  same  thing  in  a  school.  Bella,  you're  a  very 
good  scholar  — 

Bella.     No,  I'm  not. 

Krux.  Yes,  you  are,  and  you  understand  all  about  the 
kitchen  pies  and  coals  and  vegetables  and  the  like.  You're 
an  orphan. 

Bella.     Yes.     (Sighing.*) 

-Krux.     So  am  I.     You  have  no  relations. 

Bella.     No. 

Krux.     Nor  friends. 

Bella.  Oh,  yes,  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Sutcliffe,  and  the  school,  and 
the  people  in  the  village. 

Krux.     I  don't  count  them  —  I  have  no  friends. 

Bella.     No,  not  one. 

Krux.  When  the  Sutcliffes  go,  why  shouldn't  we  keep  on 
the  school? 

Bella  (astonished).     We  ? 

Krux.  Yes ;  you  and  I ;  we  are  quite  capable.  I  am  clever, 
so  are  you.  We  could  enlarge  the  connection.  You  could 
manage  the  girls,  I  would  manage  the  boys.  Think  how 
pleasant  to  make  money,  take  in  pupils,  teach  them  and  correct 


SCHOOL  431 

them ;  I  should  like  to  correct  them  —  particularly  the  boys. 
We  should  get  on,  Bella,  if  we  got  married. 

Bella.     Got  married  !     Who  got  married  ? 

Krux.  You  to  me,  me  to  you.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Krux,  of 
Cedar  Grove  House.  I  love  you,  Bella. 

Bella.  (Jumps  up,  dropping  her  book.)  Oh  don't  —  on  such 
a  nice  day  as  this,  too. 

Krux.     Eh  ? 

Bella.  Poor,  dear  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Sutcliffe  !  To  think  of  their 
dying !  It  makes  me  cry.  {Crying, ,)  So  kind  as  they've  been 
to  me. 

Krux.     She's  a  fool.     (Rises.)     Bella. 

Bella.  Go  away,  you  bad  man,  do.  To  think  of  death  and 
marriage,  and  such  dreadful  things.  (Picks  up  book.) 

Krux.  You  won't  tell  the  Sutcliffes,  Bella,  will  you?  I 
proposed  it  all  for  your  good,  and  because  I  love  you.  You 
won't  tell  'em,  will  you,  Dear,  and  get  me  into  trouble  ? 
Promise  me  you  won't  tell  'em.  Promise  me,  do  —  do. 

Bella.  I  won't  tell  'em  if  you'll  promise  me  never  to  men- 
tion such  subjects  again. 

Krux.  I  won't,  I'll  take  my  oath  I  won't.  Take  your  oath 
you  won't  tell  them  of  me.  Bella,  take  your  oath,  Dear,  will 
you? 

Bella.  No,  I  give  you  my  word.  To  think  of  our  kind 
benefactors  dying !  You  wicked  man  !  I  wonder  that  some- 
thing don't  happen  to  you  —  I  wonder —  (Two  shots  heard  in  the 
distance.)  Oh!  (Krux  frightened.)  I  won't  stay  any  longer 
with  you. 

Krux.     Where  are  you  going  ? 

Bella.     To  fetch  the  goloshes.  (Exit.) 

Krux.  A  bad  girl !  A  bad  girl !  A  bad  girl !  She'll  come 
to  no  good,  if  I  can  help  it ;  an  ungrateful  beast,  after  the  offer 
I  made  her.  What  is  she  ?  A  nobody,  a  foundling,  a  pauper 
brought  up  on  charity. 


432  THOMAS    WILLIAM   ROBERTSON 


ACT  II. 

SCENE.  —  The  schoolroom.  Two  long  rows  of  desks.  Maps  on 
walls.  Master's  desk.  Small  table  under  window,  at  which 
Bella  is  seated,  shelling  peas. 

Music  FOB  CURTAIN. 
Bella  (hums). 

Said  the  Prince  unto  the  maiden, 

"  There  is  none  I  love  but  thee." 
"  Let  me  hence  then,"  said  the  maiden, 

"  You  are  not  of  my  degree." 
"  Love  can  raise  thee  to  a  lady, 

Say,  my  Princess  wilt  thou  be  ?  " 
Faster,  faster  flew  the  maiden, 

Faster,  faster  followed  he. 

(Naomi  appears  at  the  window.) 

Bella.     Nummy,  is  that  you  ? 

Naomi.     Yes,  Dear,  what  are  you  doing? 

Bella.     Shelling  peas,  and  — 

Naomi.     Yes  ? 

Bella.     And  thinking  — 

Naomi.     About  the  goloshes? 

Bella  (nods).     But  only  a  little,  only  a  little. 

Naomi.  Bella  dear,  I  dreamt  last  night,  and  this  morning 
1  feel  as  if  something  were  going  to  happen  ;  that  is,  I  feel  quite 
hysterical,  as  if  I  should  like  somebody  to  hug  or  to  scratch  at. 
I  dressed  myself  quickly  on  purpose  that  I  might  come  out 
into  the  garden  and  have  a  good  think.  It  is  nice  to  think  in 
the  shrubbery. 

Bella.  I'm  afraid  we  are  too  young  to  have  a  right  to  think 
upon  such  subjects. 

Naomi.  Not  a  bit.  One  is  always  old  enough  for  a  sweet- 
heart. I'm  eighteen ;  how  old  are  you  ? 

Bella.     I  don't  know, 


SCHOOL  433 

Naomi.  Then  perhaps  you're  twenty.  I  knew  two  girls 
who  were  married  before  they  were  nineteen,  but  then  some 
people  have  such  luck.  Ain't  you  going  to  dress  yourself  for 
this  examination,  like  the  other  girls? 

Bella.     This  is  my  Sunday  frock. 

Naomi.  But  you  can  have  my  pink,  my  darling ;  you  can 
wear  anything  of  mine.  (She  steals  peas,  and  eats  them.) 

Bella.     You  mustn't  eat  the  peas,  Dear. 

Naomi.     Why  not? 

Bella.     They're  not  nice. 

Naomi.  Yes,  they  are  if  you  eat  them  when  nobody's  look- 
ing. (Naomi  runs  away  from  the  window  as  she  sees  Mrs.  Sut- 
cliffe  enter.) 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.     Bella,  what  are  you  doing  there? 

Bella.     Shelling  peas,  Ma'am. 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.     Shelling  peas  in  the  schoolroom? 

Bella.  They  are  so  busy  and  so  pushed  for  room  in  the 
kitchen  with  the  dinner,  that  I  brought  them  here.  I  can  take 
them  back.  (Rising.} 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.  Oh,  it  is  nearly  time  that  Mr.  Farintosh  and 
his  friend  should  be  here.  Bella,  if  the  young  ladies  are 
dressed,  you  can  tell  them  that  I  will  inspect  them  in  this 
apartment. 

Bella.     Here  are  the  young  ladies. 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.  Good.  (They  enter  and  pass  in  front  of  Mrs. 
Sutcliffe,  to  their  places. ) 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe  (to  Child).  You  shall  be  questioned  with  the 
others,  to  please  you.  What  are  you  going  to  answer? 

Child.     They  condemned  him  to  shoot  — 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.  Yes  —  yes,  that's  right.  (  Child  passes  to  her 
seat.} 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe  (to  Naomi).  Why,  Naomi,  my  dear,  you've 
been  crying. 

Naomi.     No,  I  haven't. 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.  Miss  Tighe,  Miss  Tighe,  you  should  say  I 
was  mistaken. 

SCH.  IN  COM.  —  28 


434  THOMAS    WILLIAM    ROBERTSON 

Naomi.  Then  you  are,  and  if  I  have  been  crying,  it's  only 
a  few  tears.  (G-oes  to  her  seat.) 

Tilly.  What  could  you  cry  but  tears?  You  couldn't  cry 
cucumbers,  could  you? 

(Enter  Laura,  lazily.} 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.     Now  then,  Laura,  you're  last  again. 

Laura.     Somebody  must  be  last. 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.  The  Doctor  will  put  you  through  an  exam- 
ination on  the  arrival  of  our  friends.  It  will  be  an  excellent 
bit  of  practice  for  the  grand  examination  at  the  end  of  the  half- 
year.  The  musical  examination  will  take  place  after  dinner,  in 
the  drawing-room.  Mr.  Farintosh  brings  a  friend  with  him, 
Lord  Beaufoy,  the  owner  of  half  a  county. 

Tilly.     Half  a  county!    Which  half? 

Clara.     And  which  county  ? 

Naomi.     Is  he  a  real  Lord? 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.     Real  —  yes. 

Naomi.  But  I  mean  a  real,  real  Lord.  When  I  get  near 
him  I'll  pinch  him,  and  see  if  he  is  flesh  and  blood,  like  other 
people. 

Tilly.     Oh,  I  dare  say  Lords  are  very  flesh ! 

Naomi.     And  very  blood  —  very  good  blood,  I  mean. 

(Gate  bell.} 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.     Hush  !     They  are  here. 
Naomi.     Oh,  I  feel  so  nervous,  I  should  like  to  scream. 
Mrs.  Sutcliffe.     Young  ladies,,  I  have  only  time  to  say  that 
I  rely  on  you  with  every  confidence. 

(Crirls  all  rise,  as  Dr.  Sutcliffe,  FarintosJi,  Lord  Beaufoy,  and 

Jack  enter.} 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.  Young  ladies,  let  me  have  the  honor.  Lord 
Beaufoy  — 

Bella  (at  back}.     He  Lord  Beaufoy  I 


SCHOOL  435 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.     Mr.  Percy  Farintosh,  Mr.  — 

(Naomi giggles.    Mrs.  Sutcliffe  looks  at  her  sternly.} 

Lord  Beaufoy.     Poyntz. 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.     Mr.  Poyntz. 

Naomi  (marking  on  desk  with  pencil).  Poyntz,  Poyntz, 
Poyntz. 

Farintosh.  A  friend  who  was  staying  with  me,  and  whom  I 
have  taken  the  liberty  — 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.     Charmed !        (  01   .  .      7      _ 

7i     o  *  T£      r*  v  v*  ,1  t       {  /Shaking  hands. 
Dr.  Sutcliffe.     Delighted !        ( 

Farintosh.  My  dear  young  ladies,  permit  me  to  say  how 
highly  I  feel  honored  by  being  permitted,  by  the  kindness  of 
my  friends,  Mrs.  Sutcliffe,  and  —  and  —  Theodore  —  and  the 
Doctor,  to  be  present  at  this  charming  a  —  a  — 

Lord  Beaufoy.     Inspection.     (  _       | 

Jack.     Review.  (  j 

Farintosh.     Inspection,  review,  whatever  it  may  be. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     Examination. 

Farintosh.  Examination.  Indeed,  that  is  one  of  the  proudest 
privileges  of  my  life. 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.     My  dear  Mr.  Farintosh ! 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     Percy,  my  old  friend ! 

Farintosh.  To  see  so  much  grace  and  beauty  is  like  gazing 
on  a  parterre  of  beautiful  flowers  whose  colors  are  audible,  and 
whose  perfume  is  melody. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     Bravo,  very  elegant. 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.     Flowing. 

Lord  Beaufoy.     Like  Tom  Moore. 

Jack.     Broken-winded. 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.     The  old  school. 

Farintosh.      Vieille  Scole  —  bonne  ^cole.1 

Jack.     Good  show  for  girls. 

Farintosh.  That  is  new  school.  Short,  pithy,  ungrace- 
ful. 

1  Old  school,  good  school ! 


436  THOMAS    WILLIAM   KOBERTSON 

Jack.     And  meaning  what  it  says. 

(Lord  Beaufoy  sees  and  recognizes  Bella.) 

Lord  Beaufoy.     My  fairy  in  the  wood. 

Naomi.     It's  the  shoe-horn. 

Dr.  Sutdiffe.     Bella,  my  dear,  you  are  not  going  ? 

Bella.     I  — I  — 

Mrs.  Sutdiffe.  Miss  Tighe,  let  me  introduce  you  to  Mr. 
Percy  Farintosh. 

Farintosh  (going  to  Bella).  Miss  Tighe,  I  knew  your  guard- 
ians intimately.  I  have  — 

Mrs.  Sutdiffe.  That  is  not  Miss  Tighe ;  that  is  Bella,  a 
little  thing  I  took  in  out  of  charity  —  makes  herself  very 
useful  about  the  house. 

Dr.  Sutdiffe.  The  best  scholar  we  can  boast  of  —  the  pupil 
of  whom  I  am  most  proud.  Take  your  accustomed  place,  Bella, 
at  the  head  of  the  class.  (Bella  goes  to  her  desk.') 

Mrs.  Sutdiffe.      Pray  be  seated.      (They  sit  opposite  girls.) 

Naomi.     I  can't  answer  a  single  question  if  he  looks  at  me. 

Lord  Beaufoy.     Handsome  girls  ! 

Farintosh.     Delightful!    (Aside.)    Can't  see  a  single  feature. 

(Naomi  giggles,  and  looks  at  Jack.) 

Mrs.  Sutdiffe.     Hush !     Hush,  Miss  Tighe. 

Dr.  Sutdiffe.     The  ancient  Romans  — 

Mrs.  Sutdiffe  (coughs').  Doctor,  as  we  are  rather  late,  and 
dinner  will  be  punctual,  if  you  would  kindly  make  the  prelim- 
inaries to  the  examination  as  short  as  possible. 

Dr.  Sutdiffe.  I  will  so,  my  Dear.  We  will  begin  with 
Roman  history.  There  were  different  forms  of  government 
in  Rome.  Please  to  inform  me  in  what  order  those  forms  of 
government  ruled  the  Roman  people. 

Tilly.  First  the  regal  power  —  that  is,  the  Kings ;  next  the 
Consuls,  until  the  first  Dictator  was  chosen ;  then  the  power  of 
the  Decemviri,  consular  government  again,  Imperial  dictator- 
ship, —  then  the  Emperors. 

Farintosh.  My  dear  Mrs.  Sutcliffe,  let  me  congratulate  you 
on  your  fair  charges. 


t- 1  «•'  —          43? 

i/AJL  *>uul>0'- 

Jack.  How  the  propria  $W£fcSwJ^jf^^th|yu!au  remember  it, 
I  can't  make  out.  '  ^Afc. 

.Lord  Beaufoy.     I  suppose  it's  cram. 

Z)r.  Sutcliffe.  After  Rom'ulus  had  appointed  the  Lictors, 
what  other  royal  or  civic  guard  did  he  appoint? 

Milly.    The  Cel'eres. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     Who  were  they? 

Milly.  A  guard  of  young  men,  numbering  three  hundred, 
who  accompanied  Romulus  for  the  purpose  of  defending  him. 

Lord  Beaufoy.     Sort  of  Life  Guards. 

Jack.     Without  boots  or  breeches. 

Lord  Beaufoy.     Cool  to  fight  in. 

Jack.     And  convenient  for  fording  rivers. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.  Name  the  reign  and  date  rendered  illustrious 
by  Belisa'rius. 

Naomi.     The  reign  of  Justin 'ian,  in  the  year  561. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     Who  was  Belisarius? 

Tilly.  Belisarius  was  a  Roman  general,  who  rendered  the 
highest  service  to  his  country. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     How  was  he  rewarded  ? 

Clara.  They  deprived  him  of  his  dignities  and  put  his  eyes 
out. 

Jack.  That  must  have  been  done  by  a  committee  of  the 
period. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.  Now  for  English  history.  With  regard,  now, 
to  the  ancient  Druids.  In  what  garments  were  the  ancient 
Druids  clothed  when  they  —  (Mrs.  Sutcliffe  coughs.}  I  should 
say,  —  ahem !  In  what  reign  was  the  ceremony  of  marriage 
first  solemnized  in  churches  ? 

All  the  Grirls.     In  the  reign  of  Henry  III. 

Jack.     They  all  know  that. 

Farintosh.     Wonderful ;  and  all  single  girls,  too. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.  What  is  the  difference  between  the  political 
parties,  Whig  and  Tory? 

1  An  old  rule  of  Latin  grammars  begins  with  these  words,  and  relates  to  the 
gender  of  nouns  signifying  things  which  pertain  to  males. 


438  THOMAS    WILLIAM   ROBERTSON 

Tilly.     None  whatever. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     By  whom  were  the  Britons  first  conquered? 

Naomi.     They  were  never  conquered ;  they'd  sooner  die. 

Jack.     Girl  of  spirit,  by  Jove  ! 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.  In  what  reign  was  the  famous  Gunpowder 
Plot  discovered? 

Clara.     In  the  reign  of  November  5th. 

Bella.     In  the  reign  of  James  I. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.  Who  was  the  chief  instigator,  criminal,  and 
author  of  that  atrocious  plot? 

Clara.     Oliver  Cromwell. 

Tilly.     Guy  Fawkes. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     How  was  Guy  Fawkes  punished? 

Child.  They  condemned  him  to  shoot  an  apple  from  the 
head  of  his  own  son. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.  Hum  !  Astronomy.  How  far  distant  is  the 
moon  from  the  earth? 

Naomi.  It  depends  on  the  weather.  (Laughing?)  I  knew 
I  couldn't  say  it. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     Bella,  dear  — 

Bella.  The  mean  distance  of  the  moon  from  the  earth  is 
236,347  miles. 

Jack.     Good  gracious ! 

Farintosh.     Wonderful ! 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.  I  told  you  Bella  was  our  best  pupil.  And  the 
diameter  of  the  moon? 

Bella.  Her  apparent  diameter  is  variable  according  to  her 
distance  from  the  earth.  Her  real  diameter  is  2144  miles. 

Naomi  (to  Tilly.)     What  do  they  call  the  moon  her  for? 

Tilly.  They  always  call  the  moon  her.  The  moon  is  a 
lady. 

Naomi.  Then  more  shame  for  her  to  be  out  so  late  at  night. 
What  would  they  say  if  we  did  it  ? 

Tilly.     Consider  her  age. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     And  her  magnitude  ? 

Bella.     About  one  fiftieth  of  the  magnitude  of  the  earth. 


SCHOOL  439 

Farintosh.  Tremendous !  In  astronomical  knowledge  that 
young  lady  is  a  perfect  Sir  Isaac  Davy.1 

(Enter  Krux.} 

Krux.  Pardon  my  interruption,  but  the  servant  didn't  like 
to  mention  that  dinner  was  ready — 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.  Oh,  thank  you.  I  fear  'we  cannot  proceed 
with  the  examination  further.  Mr.  Krux,  as  Mr.  Farintosh  has 
brought  two  friends,  one  more  than  we  expected,  I  fear  there 
will  not  be  room  for  you  at  table;  so  if  you  wouldn't  mind 
excusing  — 

Krux.  Oh,  never  mind  me,  Mrs.  Sutcliffe,  I  am  of  no 
consequence. 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.     Oh,  thank  you  —  so  kind  of  you. 

Farintosh  (to  Mrs.  Sutcliffe).  My  Dear,  so  many  thanks.  I 
shall  be  able  to  tell  you  all  my  admiration  during  dinner. 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.  Ladies,  then  until  after  dinner,  —  when  we 
will  resume  our  studies. 

(  G-irls  rise  and  courtesy.  Naomi  makes  eyes  at  Jack,  who 
walks  off.  Dr.  Sutcliffe  touches  Lord  Beaufoy,  who  is 
looking  at  Bella.  They  follow  off.  Crirls  chatter  aloud. 
Krux  has  a  white  mark  on  his  coat.~) 

Krux.  And  they  dine  without  me,  —  and  I'd  kept  such  a 
good  appetite,  because  I  knew  the  dinner  was  good.  Silence, 
ladies.  Oh,  these  upstarts !  And  the  guests  are  as  bad  as  the 
hosts.  Ladies  !  That  old  fool  and  those  two  young  idiots !  I 
don't  suppose  they  could  conjugate  a  verb  between  them. 
Ladies,^  ladies^  ladies  !  (Rapping  desk.}  I  must  request  your 
attention,  Miss  Hetty.  Take  your  arms  off  the  desk,  Miss 
Laura ;  heads  up.  (He  turns  to  go  up,  and  shows  a  white  mark; 
they  laugh.}  Silence,  if  you  please. 

Naomi.     He's  been  powdering  himself  for  dinner. 


1  Farintosh  ludicrously  confounds  Sir  Isaac  Newton  with    Sir   Humphry 
Davy. 


440  THOMAS    WILLIAM   ROBERTSON 

Tilly.  It's  not  powder,  it's  flpur  !  He's  been  kissing  the 
cook  ! 

Naomi.     Oh,  how  I  pity  the  cook  !     (Laugh.) 

Krux.  What  are  you  laughing  at  ?  There  is  nothing  to 
laugh  at  in  me,  I  should  think. 

Tilly.     You've  got  your  shoulder  all  over  white. 

Krux.  Oh,  Bella,  fetch  me  a  brush.  Didn't  you  hear  me  ? 
Fetch  me  a  brush.  (Exit  Bella.  To  Clara.)  What  is  the 
height  of  the  Chimborazo  Mountains  ? 

Clara.  Four  hundred  miles.  (Laugh.)  No,  I  mean  four 
hundred  yards  ;  I  made  a  mistake. 

Krux.  Wrong.  Mountains  of  that  height  do  not  exist. 
The  height  of  the  Chimborazo  Mountains  is  about  one  mile. 
Where  are  the  Chimborazo  Mountains  ? 

Child.     Wherever  you  please,  Sir. 

Krux.  That's  a  nice  child.  She's  respectful  though  she's 
stupid.  Where  are  the  Chimborazo  Mountains,  Miss  Naomi  ? 

Naomi.     I  don't  know. 

Krux.     Answer  me,  Miss  I 

Naomi.     I  can't. 

Krux.     Why  not  ? 

Naomi.  Because  I  can't.  I  feel  as  if  I  could  cry  my  eyes 
out. 

Krux.  You're  hysterical,  and  should  go  out  and  have  your 
head  pumped  on. 

(Bella  returns  with  brush*  which  she  offers  to  Krux. ) 

Krux.  Oh,  brush  me.  (A  pause.)  Did  you  hear  me  ? 
Brush  me. 

Bella.     I  can't  do  that. 

Girls.     What  a  shame  I 

Krux.     Silence  in  the  class.     Do  you  know  who  I  am  ? 

Bella.     I'm  not  a  servant. 

Krux.  Not  a  servant  I  If  you  shell  peas,  you  can  brush 
coats.  Then  pray  what  am  I  ? 


SCHOOL  441 

Naomi.  You're  a  beast.  Bella  is  here  to  teach  ladies,  not  to 
brush  blackguards.  Insulting  our  Bella  !  Girls,  don't  put  up 
with  it. 

(Throws  book  at  him;  the  others  are  about  to  follow  her  ex- 
ample when  enter  Dr.  Sutcliffe,  Mrs.  Sutcliffe,  Lord  Beau- 
foy,  and  Jack.~) 

ACT  IV. 


SCENE.  —  The  grounds  of  Cedar  drove  House.     G-irls  discovered 
at  play.     Jack.     Krux  enters. 

Krux.  Miss  Tighe  !  How  do  you  do,  Sir  ?  I  hope  I  have  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  in  health. 

Jack.     Quite. 

Krux.     I'm  quite  well,  thank  you. 

Jack.     I  didn't  ask  the  question. 

Krux.     I  did  not  know  that  you  were  here. 

Naomi.     That's  not  the  only  thing  he  don't  know. 

Jack.  I  came  to  tell  the  Doctor  that  Mr.  Farintosh  is  ex- 
pected, and  seeing  the  gate  open  — 

Krux.  The  gate  open  —  tut-tut-tut !  Now  who  could  have 
opened  the  gate  ? 

Naomi.     The  cat. 

Krux.     The  cat  —  what  cat  ? 

Naomi.  The  cat  I  keep  to  scratch  spies'  eyes  out.  (  To  Jack. ) 
You've  been  in  the  army  —  tell  ine,  would  it  be  wrong  to  kill 
Mr.  Krux? 

Jack.     By  no  means. 

Krux.  Mr.  Sutcliffe  sent  me  to  tell  you  Mr.  Farintosh  has 
arrived. 

Jack.         ] 

AT-       .        \  Arrived  ? 
Naomi.      J 

Krux.     Yes,  and  here  he  is. 

Jack   (to   Naomi).     You'll    hardly  know   the   Beau   again. 


442  THOMAS    WILLIAM   ROBERTSON 

Since  his  recovery  he  no  longer  dresses  himself  in  the  latest 
mode,  but  he  goes  about  like  any  other  old  gentleman,  and 
looks  much  the  better  for  it. 


(Enter  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Sutcliffe,  both  very  grave.} 

Jack.     My  dear  Doctor  —  Mrs.  Sutcliffe,  so  glad  to  see  you. 
I  got  here  before  Mr.  Farintosh,  and  was  just  coming  — 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe  (saluting  Jack,  seeing  Naomi  about  to  go).     You 
may  remain,  Miss  Tighe  ;  Mr.  Farintosh  wishes  to  see  you. 
(Naomi  delighted.     Enter  Farintosh,  his  appearance  entirely 
altered;  silver  hair,  whiskers,  and  his  dress  appropriate  to 
his  age.} 

Farintosh.     My  dear  Miss  Tighe,  your  guardians  send  you 
their  love.    Eh,  Poyntz,  you  here  !     How's  that  ?    How's  that  ? 

Jack.     I  came  down  by  the  train  because  I  heard  you  had 
come  on  here. 

Farintosh.     Very  kind,  very  kind. 

Jack.     And  while  I  was  searching  about  — 

Krux.     The  garden  gate  was  opened  by  the  cat. 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.     Eh,  what  ? 

Jack.     I  —  I  —  saw  the  cat  outside  waiting  to  come  in,  so  I 
opened  the  gate  for  him  or  her. 

Krux.     From  the  outside  ? 

Jack.     No,  I  was  lifting  the  animal  over  the  wall,  when  see- 
ing Miss  Tighe  in  the  garden  — 

Naomi.     I  opened  the  gate,  Mr.  Krux  ;  you  can  shut  it. 

(Krux  shuts  the  gate.} 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe  (who  is  very  pale}.     Mr.  Poyntz,  let  "us  thank 
you  for  the  effort  you  have  made  to  find  that  podr  'child. 

Farintosh.     Yes,  yes  —  a  sad  affair,  a  sad  affair'.  > 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     A  child  I  was  soxmuch  attaiched  to. 

Krux  (sighing}.     So  was  I. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     We  have  only  just  broken  the  news  to  our  old 
friend. 

Farintosh.     It  appears  that  the  young  lady  went  off  with 


SCHOOL  443 

somebody  —  who  was  not  a  young  lady.  These  things  hap- 
pen ;  girls  are  but  girls,  we  must  not  expect  them  to  be 
angels. 

Krux  (shaking  Ms  head}.  No  ;  if  you  do,  you'll  be  contin- 
ually disappointed,  continually  disappointed. 

Farintosh.  However,  my  dear  friends,  the  news  I  bring  will, 
I  am  sure,  give  you  pleasure  (Mrs.  Sutcliffe  and  Dr.  Sutcliffe, 
and  all  except  Krux  and  Naomi  sit  on  a  garden  seat),  even  in 
the  midst  of  your  grief.  You  know,  Theodore,  that  my  poor 
son  (with  emotion)  died  without  my  forgiveness.  My  boy  died, 
leaving  a  wife  and  child.  For  years  I  have  been  in  search  of 
them,  but  owing  to  the  frequent  names  assumed  by  poor  Fred 
for  the  sake  of  avoiding  creditors,  and  to  his  having  been  some 
time  abroad,  I  could  find  no  traces  of  either  my  daughter-in- 
law  or  my  grandchild.  At  last  they  are  found. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe  (rising}.  My  dear  old  friend,  receive  my  con- 
gratulations. 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.     And  mine. 

Naomi  (crossing  to  Farintosh).  Oh,  I'm  so  glad.  It  must 
be  so  beautiful  to  have  a  father. 

Farintosh  (keeping  Naomi's  hand}.  My  dear  child,  you  shall 
soon  see  our  meeting.  As  I  said,  my  lawyer  has  traced  them 
out ;  my  daughter-in-law,  poor  Fred's  wife,  is  dead — 

Krux.     I  congrat  —  (Jack  silences  him. ) 

Farintosh.  But  her  child  lives  —  lives  —  lives,  my  dear 
friends;  lives  to  be  the  center  object  of  my  affections;  lives 
to  be  a  solace  and  a  comfort  to  the  few  years  remaining  to 
me  here,  —  for  I  have  been  a  foolish,  vain  old  fellow,  and  tried 
to  pass  off  for  a  young  fop  when  I  was  only  an  old  fool.  ] 
thought  of  all  this  night  and  day  as  I  lay  in  bed,  when  they 
told  me  I  was  dying,  and  the  hardest  pang  of  all  was  that  I 
should  not  live  long  enough  to  see  my  grandchild  ;  but  I  re- 
covered. I  was  never  better,  never  so  thankful  or  so  well. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     We  are  so  pleased. 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.  Your  happiness  compensates  us  for  our 
grief. 


444  THOMAS    WILLIAM   ROBERTSON 

Farintosh.  My  dear  friends,  if  you  had  children,  or  if  you 
ever  have,  —  but  I  suppose  that  is  almost  past  hope  now  —  you 
could  imagine  my  joy.  You  shall  witness  it.  I  invited  you 
on  purpose,  for  my  granddaughter  is  here. 

Jack.     Here  ? 

Farintosh.     Yes. 

Naomi.  Here !  Is  it  Miily  or  Tilly  or  Laura  or  Clara  or 
Hetty  or  Kitty? 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.     Did  you  bring  her  with  you  ? 

Farintosh.  What, — didn't  I  tell  you?  What  a  stupid  old 
man  I  am !  Now  comes  the  tremendous  and  delightful  sur- 
prise. My  poor  boy's  last  alias  was  Mountain,  his  wife's 
maiden  name  ;  pressed  everywhere  by  creditors,  she  retained 
the  name  after  his  death.  Mrs.  Mountain,  as  she  ^called  her 
self,  died  in  the  village,  here  close  by,  leaving  her  child  to  an 
old  woman  called  Marks,  who  brought  her  up  —  till  you  —  you 
adopted  her  —  you  —  you,  best  of  men  and  women,  you  —  my 
old  college  chum  (shaking  Dr.  Sutdiffe's  hand),  and  my  old 
sweetheart  (kissing  her  hand).  She  is  known  here  by  the 
name  of  Bella  Marks.  I  suppose  I  saw  her  when  I  was  here 
a  month  ago,  but  I  don't  remember  her  among  so  many,  perhaps. 
Ah,  me  !  I  did  not  notice  her.  Now  where  is  she  ?  This  is 
the  supreme  moment  of  my  life.  Give  her  to  me.  I  can  con- 
tain myself  no  longer.  My  heart  is  hungry  for  her.  Call 
Bella,  my  grandchild.  Call  her.  Give  her  to  me.  (A pause.) 
What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  Isn't  she  at  home  ?  Is  she  out 
on  a  visit  ?  If  so,  never  mind.  Send  for  her.  (Naomi  bursts 
out  sobbing.)  My  child.  She's  not  dead  !  (Naomi  gives  him 
her  hand.)  No,  no,  thank  Heaven.  Well  then  —  what  — 
what  —  what  —  (Getting  alarmed.}  Tell  me!  Tell  me  —  (A 
pause.) 

Krux.     Sir,  if  no  one  else  will  tell  you,  I  will. 

Farintosh.     Go  on. 

Krux.  Bella,  your  granddaughter,  left  here  six  weeks  ago. 
It  seems  that,  in  mentioning  the  fact  of  a  pupil  who  was  miss- 
ing in  London,  Mrs.  Sutcliffe  has  not  mentioned  her  name. 


SCHOOL  445 

The  girl  whom  she  has  told  you  of,  who  eloped  clandestinely, 
was  Bella  Marks  —  I  should  say  is  Bella  Farintosh  —  your 
granddaughter. 

Farintosh  (jumping  up  and  seizing  him).  You  lie!  I'll  throt- 
tle you,  dog,  and  kill  you  !  (Jack  takes  Krux  by  the  collar  of  his 
coat  and  twists  him  into  a  corner.)  It's  not  true.  Theodore, 
my  friend,  say  it's  not  true.  Poyntz  —  (to  Naomi)  My  child, 
speak  —  speak  ! 

Krux.     It's  quite  true,  upon  my  honor  as  a  gentleman. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     My  dear  friend  ! 

Farintosh.     To  find  her,  but  to  find  her  lost  ! 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     It  may  not  be  as  bad  as  we  suppose. 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.     My  husband  went  to  London  to  seek  out  — 

Farintosh.  And  the  name  of  the  man  she  was  supposed  to 
accompany?  (Another  paused)  His  name?  You  may  tell  me 
—  I  can  bear  it  now.  His  name,  I  say. 

Krux.     Lord  Beaufoy. 

Farintosh.  My  nephew  !  {Sinks  into  seat.  Grate  bell  is 
heard  ;  Krux  goes  up  and  opens  the  gate.) 

Krux.     Lord  Beaufoy  ! 

{Enter  Lord  Beaufoy  ;  Krux  shuts  the  gate.) 

Lord  Beaufoy.  My  dear  uncle,  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Sutcliffe  — 
Jack  !  {Saluting  them  all  gaily ;  pause.)  Why,  what's  the 
matter  ? 

Dr.  Sutcliffe  (rising).  My  Lord  Beaufoy,  we  believe  that 
you,  and  you  only,  can  tell  us  the  hiding  place  of  Bella  Marks. 

Naomi  (crying).     My  poor  Bella  ! 

Krux.     A  most  improper  young  person. 

Lord  Beaufoy.  The  hiding  place  of  Bella  Marks  ?  Yes,  I 
admit  I  know  it.  What  then  ? 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.  What  then  ?  But  I  forget  —  Lord  Beaufoy, 
you  are  ignorant  that  — 

Farintosh  (rising).  Let  me  tell  him,  Theodore.  You  are 
ignorant  that  Bella  is  my  granddaughter  and  your  cousin. 


446  THOMAS    WILLIAM    ROBERTSON 

Lord  Beaufoy.  No.  Two  days  ago  my  lawyer,  who,  as  you 
know,  is  also  yours,  informed  me  of  the  fact. 

Farintosh.  And  fearing  that  I  should  alter  the  disposition 
of  my  property,  you  accomplished  this  ruin  for  revenge. 

Lord  Beaufoy.  Not  so  ;  when  Miss  Farintosh  left  Mrs.  Sut- 
cliffe's  I  believed  her  to  be  only  Bella  Marks. 

Farintosh.  Then  all  may  be  repaired.  Arthur,  my  nephew, 
you  —  you  know  I'm  rich.  My  granddaughter  shall  inherit  all 
I  have.  I  can't  last  long.  Let  me  implore  you  —  marry  her. 

Lord  Beaufoy.     Marry  her  !     Impossible. 

Farintosh.     Impossible  ? 

Lord  Beaufoy.     Yes,  I  cannot. 

Farintosh.     Why  not  ? 

Lord  Beaufoy.     I  am  already  married. 

Jack  and  Farintosh.     Married  ? 

Farintosh.     Secretly  ? 

Lord  Beaufoy.     Yes,  secretly. 

Farintosh  (going  to  his  seat).  My  punishment  —  my  punish- 
ment ! 

Lord  Beaufoy  (to  Jack).     And  apropos,  Jack  — 

Jack.  Lord  Beaufoy,  understand  that  from  this  time  we  are 
.strangers.  My  contempt  for  you  is  too  deep  for  utterance. 

Lord  Beaufoy.     You  shall  apologize  to  me  for  those  words. 

Jack.     Apologize  I 

Lord  Beaufoy.  And  be  sorry  that  you  used  them.  Your 
indignant  virtue  amuses  me,  and  so  does  yours,  and  yours.  I 
thought  (to  Jack)  you  were  a  cynic ;  you  used  to  profess  that 
no  occurrence  on  this  earth  could  be  of  the  slightest  conse- 
quence. Was  your  cynicism  only  a  sham  ?  If  so,  how  do  you 
defend  it  ?  If  mock  virtue  be  a  bad  sort  of  hypocrisy,  what  is 
mock  vice  ?  For  you  —  (to  Dr.  Sutcliffe  and  Mrs.  Sutcliffe} 
how  can  you  reproach  me  ?  Bella  is  contented  and  happy.  She 
does  not  fetch  or  carry  like  a  servant.  She  rings  bells,  she 
does  not  answer  them.  (To  Farintosh.}  Your  parental  inter- 
est is  a  somewhat  sudden  spasm  of  affection.  You've  lived 
the  last  eighteen  years  happily  without  her.  Whence  this 


SCHOOL  447 

new-born  feeling  ?  Am  I  to  suppose  it  is  compensation  —  or 
too  late  remorse  —  or  a  desire  to  be  tended  by  a  nurse  who 
takes  no  wages  ?  Why  has  this  neglected  child  become  so 
suddenly  an  object  of  such  tenderness  ?  Not  because  she  has 
been  poor,  unloved,  and  unprotected ;  but  because  she's  the 
grandchild  of  a  rich,  proud  gentleman,  who  has  forgotten  his 
duty  to  her  for  twenty  years,  to  remember  it  during  his  seventy- 
first. 

Dr.  Sutdiffe  (crossing  to  him).  Lord  Beaufoy,  ladies  are 
present.  I  am  an  old  man,  but  if  you  do  not  instantly  quit 
this  place,  by  Heaven,  I'll  conduct  you  by  the  collar  — 

(Lord  Beaufoy  bows  politely  to  Dr.  Sutdiffe.     All  the  girls 
enter.) 

Milly.  Oh,  Dr.  Sutcliffe,  we  saw  such  a  lovely  carriage  and 
footmen  coming  towards  the  school. 

Lord  Beaufoy  (to  Dr.  Sutdiffe).  I  will  go  without  assist- 
ance ;  but  before  I  go,  Dr.  Sutcliffe  (going  up  towards  gate), 
let  me  present  you  to  Lady  Beaufoy.  (  Opens  the  gate.  Dis- 
covers Bella  dressed  in  bridal  costume.  Two  footmen  follow  her. 
To  Farintosh,  bringing  her  down.)  My  wife,  and  your  grandchild. 

Farintosh.     My  darling  child  !     (Embracing  Bella.) 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.     My  favorite  pupil ! 

Naomi  (suppressing  a  sob).  Please  pass  her  round.  I  want 
to  kiss  her,  too.  (Bella  crosses  to  Naomi.)  Oh,  my  darling  — 
my  true,  real  Lady  ! 

(Farintosh,  in  his  extreme  delight,  kisses  Mrs.  Sutdiffe.} 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     My  Dear  I     For  thirty-five  years  — 

Farintosh.  But,  my  dear  Arthur,  how  could  you  be  so 
cruel  ? 

Lord  Beaufoy.  My  dear  uncle,  how  could  you  be  so  sus- 
picious ?  Knowing  that  you  wished  me  to  marry  in  what  con- 
ventional cant  calls  my  own  rank,  I  prevailed  on  Bella,  who 
reluctantly  consented  to  become  my  wife  —  knowing  that  not 
even  an  archbishop  could  unmarry  us.  Imagine  my  delight 
when,  on  my  return  to  town,  my  lawyer  informed  me  that  un- 
knowingly I  had  wedded  my  own  cousin. 


448  THOMAS    WILLIAM    ROBERTSON 

Naomi.  Of  course  you're  cousins.  It  isn't  unlawful  for  — 
no  —  cousins  can  marry.  That's  a  real  comfort,  isn't  it  ? 

Lord  Beaufoy.  We  went  to  your  house,  were  told  that  you 
had  flown  here,  came  after  you.  I  wished  to  present  my  Lady 
to  her  old  friends  in  proper  form  —  and,  really,  your  reception 
was  such  that  I  resolved  to  punish  you.  (Music.} 

Bella  (to  Farintosh}.  You  will  not  be  ashamed  of  your 
grandchild  because  she  has  not  been  brought  up  amid  the  lux- 
ury to  which  she  will  try  to  grow  accustomed  ? 

Farintosh.  Ashamed?  My  —  my  —  my  happiness  is  only 
too  great. 

Bella  (to  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Sutcliffe}.  And  you,  my  dear  kind 
friends,  to  whom  I  owe  everything,  will  forgive  me  for  the 
suspense  I  have  caused  you.  I  would  have  written,  but  my 
Lord  — 

Lord  Beaufoy  (correcting  her}.     Arthur. 

Bella.     Arthur  wanted  me  to  keep  silent,  and  — 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     The  end  crowns  the  means. 

Mrs.  Sutcliffe.  My  sweet  darling,  I  had  no  apprehensions. 
I  always  knew  that  your  destiny  would  be  a  high  one. 

Bella  (to  Naomi).  And  you'll  come  and  pass  your  holidays 
with  me? 

Naomi.  Yes,  Dear,  and  you  shall  show  me  all  your  new 
things. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe  (to  Lord  Beaufoy}.  I  have  to  ask  your  Lord- 
ship's pardon. 

Jack.  I  could  bite  my  tongue  off,  Arthur,  for  what  I  said 
just  now. 

Lord  Beaufoy.  Not  another  word  ;  you  were  all  quite  right. 
I  told  you,  Jack,  you  would  be  sorry.  (Music  ceases.} 

Bella.     Mr.  Krux,  I'm  sure  you  wish  me  every  happiness. 

Krux.     Every  happiness,  Miss  Bella. 

Naomi.  Miss  Bella !  Do  you  know  whom  you  are  talking 
to  ?  Lady  Beaufoy  —  Lady  Beaufoy  ! 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.  Mr.  Krux,  if  you  would  like  to  take  your 
usual  walk  now,  don't  let  regard  for  us  prevent  you. 


SCHOOL  449 

Krux.     Thank  you,  Dr.  Sutcliffe.      (Bows  and  goes  off.} 

Naomi  (quickly}.     Jack,  do  you  love  me? 

Jack.     Naomi ! 

Naomi.  Then  run  after  Krux  and  give  him  a  good  thrash- 
ing. You  won't  mind,  will  you? 

Jack.     It  will  be  a  pleasure.  (Exit  Jack  after  Krux. } 

Tilly  (reading  from  look).  "Cinderella  was  then  conducted 
to  the  young  Prince,  who  instantly  asked  her  to  accept  his 
hand.  The  marriage  ceremony  took  place  in  a  few  days,  and 
Cinderella  gave  her  sisters  magnificent  apartments  in  the 
palace." 

Milly.  "  And  a  short  time  after,  married  them  to  two  great 
Lords  of  the  court." 

All  the  Grirls.     Oh,  my  Lady ! 

Naomi.  It's  just  like  the  story  —  Prince,  carriage,  footmen, 
and  all.  (  Taking  up  pumpkin  from  flower  bed.}  And  to  think 
that  this  should  ever  grow  up  into  that.  (Indicating  the  foot- 
men, and  placing  pumpkin  at  their  feet. } 

Farintosh.     And  in  this  fairy  story,  what  am  I? 

Naomi.     You're  the  godmother. 

Lord  Beaufoy  (taking  case  from  footman).  Knowing  my 
wife's  talent  for  narrative,  I  have  here  something  I  could  offer 
to  her  only  on  this  spot. 

Bella.     Another  present  for  me? 

Lord  Beaufoy.  A  pair  of  glass  slippers.  (  Opening  case  and 
taking  them  out.} 

Girls.     Oh !     (They  go  round  Lord  Beaufoy  and  Bella.} 

(Enter  Jack.} 

Naomi.     Did  you  do  it? 
Jack.     Yes. 

Naomi.     Did  you  hurt  him  much? 

Jack.     He  said  I  did,  —  and  I  believe  he  spoke  the  truth. 
Farintosh  (taking  the  hands  of  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Sutcliffe).     See, 
my  friends,  how  a  good  deed  germinates  into  a  great   one. 

8CH.   IN  COM.  — 29 


450  THOMAS    WILLIAM   ROBERTSON 

Your  past  kindness  to  a  friendless  orphan  girl  is  the  cause  of 
all  our  present  happiness. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.  No,  no.  Not  so.  Your  nephew's  nature  is 
an  exceptionally  fine  one.  He  is,  in  the  highest  sense  of  the 
word,  a  gentleman,  and  there  is  no  sight  under  the  sun  finer 
than  a  true  gentleman. 

Farintosh.     Except  one. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     Eh? 

Farintosh.     A  true  lady. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.  So  many  things  are  required  for  the  composi- 
tion of  the  real  thing.  One  wants  nobility  of  feeling. 

Farintosh.     A  kind  heart. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     A  noble  mind. 

Farintosh.     Modesty. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     Gentleness. 

Farintosh.     Courage. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     Truthfulness. 

Farintosh.     Birth. 

Dr.  Sutcliffe.     Breeding. 

Mrs.   Sutcliffe    (coming  between   them).      And,  above  all, — 
School. 


VIII 
BARDEEN 


CHARLES   WILLIAM   BARDEEN 

TWENTY  years  ago  a  new  educational  journal,  entitled  The  School  Bulletin, 
was  established  by  C.  W.  Bardeen,  a  young  man  of  twenty-seven  years. 
The  proprietor  was  a  native  of  Groton,  Mass.,  who  had  gone  to  the  war  as  a 
drummer  boy  in  the  1st  Massachusetts  Volunteer  Infantry,  at  the  age  of 
fifteen,  and,  later,  had  won  distinction  in  the  educational  field. 

In  the  columns  of  The  Bulletin,  in  1878,  appeared  a  serial  story  which 
attracted  the  attention  of  educators  in  all  parts  of  the  country.  It  was 
entitled  Roderick  Hume,  and  was  professedly  "the  story  of  a  New  York 
teacher."  It  was  written  with  the  specific  view  of  portraying  certain 
phases  of  the  modern  graded  school.  The  narrative  was  not  designed  as 
a  satire,  though  a  vein  of  humor  ran  through  it  all ;  nor  was  it  to  be  taken 
as  an  autobiography,  though  the  author's  own  experiences  were  more  or 
less  interwoven  with  it.  The  interest  of  the  story  increased  from  month 
to  month,  and  widely  extended  the  reputation  of  The  School  Bulletin  and 
its  editor. 

Letters  received  from  all  parts  of  the  country  revealed,  in  fact,  a  phe- 
nomenal interest  in  its  outcome.  When  the  fifteenth  chapter  was  reached, 
a  strong  protest  was  received  from  many  of  the  readers,  who  claimed  that 
this  chapter  was  wrong  in  its  judgment  and  immoral  in  its  tendency. 
This,  however,  did  not  deter  the  author  from  his  course,  and  the  story 
was  completed  in  accordance  with  the  original  plan.  Subsequently  it 
appeared  in  book  form,  and  it  has  since  held  a  unique  place  in  American 
literature. 

Roderick  Hume  differs  from  Thompson's  Locke  Amsden  and  from  Eggles- 
ton's  Hoosier  Schoolmaster  —  its  predecessors  in  educational  fiction  —  both 
in  style  and  in  scope.  It  is,  in  fact,  the  only  novel  of  any  distinction  which 
portrays  the  American  graded  school. 

Its  author  was  among  the  younger  educators  of  New  York.  Two  years 
of  his  youth  were  passed  in  the  army.  In  a  single  year,  after  his  return 
from  the  war,  he  made  up  a  sufficient  number  of  his  studies  to  complete 
the  course  in  the  Lawrence  Academy;  and  four  years  later  (1869),  he  was 
graduated  from  Yale  College.  He  taught  for  six  years,  his  experience  in- 
cluding the  superintendency  of  the  schools  at  Whitehall,  N.Y.,  and  the  vice- 
principalship  of  the  Connecticut  State  Normal  School. 

453 


454  CBARLES  WILLIAM  BARDEEN 

Those  six  years  contained  a  world  of  experience  for  a  person  of  his  quick 
aptitude,  close  observation,  and  acute  analysis  of  character.  Almost  every 
phase  of  educational  work,  from  the  most  elementary  department  of  the 
public  schools  to  the  most  advanced  department  of  the  university,  had 
become  familiar  to  him.  Mr.  Bardeen  is  a  "  born  "  teacher.  He  has  a 
natural  aptitude  for  the  work,  and  a  remarkable  enthusiasm.  He  seems 
to  have  the  power  to  place  himself  in  the  position  of  the  pupil  or  student 
of  whatever  grade  or  circumstances,  and  knows  just  what  he  requires. 

As  a  writer,  he  possesses  a  simple  and  easy  style ;  as  a  scholar,  he  enjoys 
an  extensive  acquaintance  with  literature. 

In  1884  appeared  a  school  text-book  from  his  pen,  entitled  A  System  of 
Rhetoric.  The  work  embodies  many  highly  original  and  attractive  features 
which  render  it  an  interesting  volume  even  to  the  casual  reader.  The  prin- 
ciples of  the  science  are  happily  illustrated  by  a  seemingly  inexhaustible 
fund  of  historical  and  literary  reference,  anecdote,  wit,  and  humor.  It  is  an 
extensive  volume  (of  673  pages).  An  abridgment,  of  less  than  half  of  the 
original  size,  has  been  published  under  the  title  A  Shorter  Course  in  Rhetoric. 
Both  books  have  been  very  well  received. 

In  addition  to  these,  Mr.  Bardeen  is  the  author  of  Outlines  of  Sentence 
Making,  Verbal  Pitfalls,  and  Common  School  Law. 


THE  NORWAY   FREE  HIGH  SCHOOL 
I.  THE  TEACHERS'  BUREAU 

"I  want  a  place  to  teach  school." 

The  speaker  was  a  young  man  of  medium  height,  and  broad 
but  somewhat  stooping  shoulders.  His  face  was  frank  and 
earnest.  His  eyes  and  his  voice  expressed  directness  and  de- 
cision. 

All  this  the  manager  took  in  while  he  was  reaching  for  a 
blank  application-form. 

"He  means  business,"  said  the  manager  to  himself.  To  the 
applicant  he  said: 

"You  will  fill  this  blank,  please." 

The   stranger   seated   himself   at  a  neighboring   desk   and 


THE    NORWAY   FREE    HIGH    SCHOOL  455 

glanced  over  the  questions  with  the  quizzical  smile  usually 
assumed  by  a  man  who  considers  himself  modest,  when  asked 
to  describe  himself. 

"Name.    Roderick  Hume,"  he  wrote  readily  enough. 

"Age.    Twenty-four." 

"  Where  educated.  Graduated  at  Wilbraham  in  1867,  and  at 
Wesleyan  University  in  1871." 

"Experience  in  teaching.  Mostly  private,  fitting  boys  for 
college." 

"  What  can  you  teach  best?     College  preparatory  studies." 

"  Can  you  teach  common  English  branches  ?  Presume  not, 
without  cramming." 

"Higher  English?  Probably  I  could,  in  the  usual  vague 
manner,  and  with  the  usual  vaguer  results." 

"Latin?    Yes." 

"Greek?     Yes." 

"  French  ?  Have  done  it,  but  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  it.  I 
can  read  it  fairly  well,  but  couldn't  order  a  dinner  in  it  with- 
out special  preparation." 

"Q-erman?     Ditto,  only  more  so." 

"Any  other  languages?     Not  worth  mentioning." 

"Singing?  Yes,  but  I  don't  mean  to;  I  haven't  patience 
enough." 

"  Instrumental  music  ?  Yes ;  the  drum.  I  learned  it  in  the 
army;  but  I  don't  insist  upon  its  being  made  a  part  of  the 
curriculum." 

"Elocution?  I  can  teach  that  it  is  a  humbug;  at  least  as 
usually  understood  and  practiced." 

"  G-ymnastics  ?  No ;  but  I  can  cut  the  Dutch  Roll  backwards, 
and  play  a  fair  first  base." 

"Are  you  married?  No;  I  don't  mind  adding  that  I  don't 
mean  to  be,  at  present. " 

"  Are  you  a  church  member  ?    Yes." 

"  Give  reference  to  some  one  who  knows  you  personally.  Presi- 
dent Joseph  Cummings,  Middletown,  Conn." 

"  Give  reference  to  some  one  who  knows  of  you  as  a  teacher. 


466  .CHARLES  WILLIAM  EARDEEN 

Major-General  Andrew  S.  Jessup,  of  Windham  Military  Insti- 
tute." 

"  What  kind  of  a  position  do  you  desire  ?  Principal  of  a  public 
school,  or  first-class  department  work." 

"  What  salary  ?  Not  less  than  $1000,  and  as  much  more  as  I 
can  get." 

Roderick  read  over  his  answers  carefully,  and  was  satisfied 
with  them.  He  reasoned  that  the  more  individuality  he  in- 
fused into  them,  the  more  likely  his  application  would  be  to 
make  an  impression  and  be  remembered.  So  he  handed  in  the 
paper,  accompanied  by  the  registration  fee  of  two  dollars. 

"I  am  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Mr.  Hume,"  said  the 
manager,  after  looking  over  the  paper.  "  I  will  write  at  once 
to  the  gentlemen  you  refer  to,  and  shall  be  able  to  talk  with 
you  about  one  or  two  positions  next  Saturday." 

When  Roderick  presented  himself,  the  manager  greeted  him 
cordially. 

"Your  references  are  very  satisfactory,  Mr.  Hume;  very 
satisfactory.  You  are  certainly  entitled  to  a  desirable  posi- 
tion." 

"Then  you  really  did  write  to  them?"  asked  Roderick,  in 
some  surprise.  "  I  took  it  for  granted  that  this  asking  for  ref- 
erences was  only  a  matter  of  form,  and  never  dreamed  of  your 
wasting  any  postage  stamps  upon  them." 

The  manager  smiled. 

"How  do  you  suppose  we  can  feel  safe  in  recommending  one 
of  whose  past  history  we  know  nothing  save  from  his  own  state- 
ments ?  "  he  asked. 

"Why,  from  his  appearance,"  said  Roderick,  impetuously. 
"I  would  give  more  for  five  minutes'  talk  with  a  man,  face  to 
face,  than  for  all  the  information  I  could  get  about  him  in  a 
week  of  correspondence." 

"That  is  a  common  opinion,"  replied  the  manager  suavely, 
"  particularly  among  those  of  limited  experience.  I  have  fur- 
nished positions  to  nearly  four  hundred  and  fifty  teachers,  and  I 
know  somewhat  intimately  as  many  more.  My  success  in 


TSE    NORWAY   FREE   HIGH   SCHOOL  457 

business  depends  entirely  upon  my  skill  in  putting  men  where 
they  will  fit.  I  used  to  rely  mainly  upon  what  I  could  judge 
of  an  applicant  from  his  speech  and  manner.  A  good  many 
mortifying  blunders  have  taught  me  that  reliable  persons  who 
have  known  him  five  years  can  assist  me  materially  in  sus- 
taining or  modifying  a  judgment  I  have  had  to  form  in  five 
minutes." 

"But  will  they  assist  you?"  persisted  Roderick.  "All  re- 
plies I  ever  saw  to  references  might  have  been  printed  from 
stereotyped  plates.  They  have  always  known  the  young  man 
a  long  time,  they  esteem  him  very  highly,  and  anything  you 
can  do  to  further  his  interests  will  be  held  by  them  in  high 
appreciation.  Of  course  no  one  would  refer  to  anybody  who 
was  too  ill-natured  to  say  this." 

"  On  the  contrary,  fully  one  third  of  the  references  given  us 
are  answered  to  the  discredit  of  the  applicant.  Whether  it  is 
that  they  assume,  as  you  did,  that  the  reference  will  never  be 
used,  and  therefore  select  the  most  noted  person  of  their  ac- 
quaintance because  the  name  looks  better;  or  whether,  as  is 
more  likely,  they  really  have  no  conception  of  the  contempt  in 
which  they  are  held,  I  don't  know.  But  we  get  some  responses 
that  would  make  the  applicant's  ears  tingle.  We  consider 
them  confidential,  but  I  will  read  you  one  as  a  specimen,  omit- 
ting names.  It  is  from  the  president  of  one  of  our  oldest  col- 
leges," continued  the  manager,  as  he  drew  forth  a  letter  from 
a  convenient  pigeon-hole.  "  Listen  to  this : 

"  <  DEAR    SIR  :    The   blanks   sent   by   you   for   information   regarding 

Mr. ,  I  return,  carefully  and  conscientiously  filled.     They  intelligibly 

outline  his  personal  peculiarities.  I  will  only  add  that  he  has  thus  far  dis- 
graced every  institution  with  which  he  has  been  connected,  and  that  he  has 
every  prospect  of  maintaining  his  reputation. 

" '  Very  truly  yours.' " 

"  What  are  the  blanks  referred  to  ?  "  inquired  Roderick,  feel- 
ing that  he  would  very  much  like  to  see  what  President  Cum- 
mings  had  written  of  him. 


458  CHARLES   WILLIAM  BARDEEN 

"  Oh !  we  ask  a  good  many  questions  —  whether  anything  is 
known  to  the  discredit  of  the  applicant ;  what  are  his  individ- 
ual, social,  and  business  habits;  whether  his  personal  appear- 
ance is  pleasing;  and  many  others." 

"  Do  you  get  all  these  questions  answered  ?  " 

"Not  always.  But  we  urge  that  the  replies  will  be  held 
sacredly  confidential,  to  be  used  only  in  enabling  us  to  judge 
where  it  is  safe  for  us  to  send  a  man ;  and  that  nothing  can  be 
more  important  than  that  the  teachers  of  our  children  shall  be 
in  every  way  suitable  for  their  positions.  We  add  that  if  no 
answer  is  received  we  shall  assume  that  nothing  could  be  said 
except  to  the  injury  of  the  applicant.  So  we  usually  get  some 
reply." 

"But  are  the  replies  discriminating  and  honest?" 

"Hardly  ever.  There  are  few  who  understand  that  severity 
when  deserved  is  often  true  charity;  still  fewer  who,  when 
they  mean  that  a  man  has  taught  a  fairly  satisfactory  school, 
can  refrain  from  saying  that  he  is  the  best  teacher  they  ever 
saw.  For  all  this  we  learn  to  make  allowance." 

Roderick  laughed. 

"  Do  you  know  I  have  a  mind  to  ask  a  favor  ?  "  he  said,  with 
a  hesitation  unusual  in  him. 

"What  is  it?" 

"I  would  like  to  know  what  Dr.  Cummings  thinks  of  my 
personal  appearance  ?  I  really  have  never  been  told  what  kind 
of  a  looking  fellow  I  am  to  others." 

This  time  the  manager  laughed,  and  looked  at  his  candidate 
somewhat  closely.  Evidently  Roderick  was  honestly  doubtful. 

"  I  will  read  you  what  the  Doctor  says : 

"  '  Personal  appearance.    Manly  and  pleasing. 
"  '  Dress.    Neat  and  simple. 

" '  Social  qualifications.  Reserved  with  strangers,  but  agreeable  and  fond 
of  society.' " 

"That  will  do,"  said  Roderick,  "and  I  am  very  much 
obliged." 


THE   NORWAY   FREE   HIGH    SCHOOL  459 

He  said  no  more  about  it,  but  was  evidently  gratified  and 
somewhat  surprised.  The  fact  was,  he  had  started  low.  He 
had  been  a  hired  hand  on  a  farm,  a  striker  in  a  foundry,  a  pri- 
vate in  the  army.  He  had  a  high  ideal,  and  felt  confident  of 
his  intellectual  ability.  But  he  knew  that  social  position  and 
the  graces  of  society  were  not  his  by  birthright  or  culture ;  and 
he  felt  that  it  was  only  by  now  and  then  using  the  opinions 
of  others  to  measure  his  height  that  he  could  feel  assured  how 
far  he  had  risen  on  the  social  ladder. 


II.    WHAT  MAKES  A  TEACHER  SUCCESSFUL 

"What  constitutes  a  successful  teacher?"  asked  Roderick. 

"You  ask  a  hard  question.  One  would  naturally  name 
among  the  first  requisites  thorough  scholarship.  In  depart- 
ment work,  at  least,  where  a  man  is  responsible  only  for  in- 
struction in  a  single  subject,  or  class  of  studies,  we  might 
expect  almost  profound  learning.  But  we  seldom  find  even  a 
desire  for  profound  learning.  I  called  once  upon  the  instruc- 
tor in  natural  science  in  one  of  our  largest  high  schools.  Ap- 
paratus had  been  lavishly  provided  by  the  board  of  education : 
few  colleges  are  so  well  supplied.  I  was  particularly  inter- 
ested in  a  spectroscope,  which  had  been  imported  at  the  cost  of 
n'early  four  hundred  dollars,  and  I  promised  to  return  after 
school  to  see  it  tried.  I  did  so,  in  company  with  a  friend,  and 
the  instructor  made  pompous  preparation  for  the  display.  It 
soon  appeared  that  the  only  substance  he  had  ever  tried  was 
common  salt.  I  scraped  up  a  little  dust  from  the  table  in  the 
laboratory  and  placed  it  under  the  instrument.  He  not  only 
did  not  know  what  substance  the  bands  in  the  spectrum  indi- 
cated, but  he  did  not  know  how  to  find  out  what  they  indicated. 
I  asked  for  charts  of  the  spectrum,  and  he  said  he  had  none, 
although  four  of  the  volumes  displayed  in  the  rack  upon  the 
table  contained  as  frontispieces  the  very  charts  wanted.  When 
we  had  entered  we  had  passed  through  the  laboratory,  and 


460  CHARLES   WILLIAM  BARDEEtf 

paused  to  admire  the  profusion  of  chemicals.  My  friend  asked 
him  if  he  taught  physics  as  well  as  chemistry.  He  replied  in 
the  negative,  adding  that  he  gave  instruction  only  in  chemistry 
and  natural  philosophy." 

"Probably  he  didn't  stay  there  long,"  said  Roderick. 

"  On  the  contrary,  he  is  there  to-day,  and  will  stay  as  long 
as  he  cares  to.  He  does  not  happen  to  be  regarded  as  a  success- 
ful teacher,  but  nobody  has  complained  of  his  scholarship.  In 
fact,  there  is  nobody  to  find  out  anything  about  it.  The  prin- 
cipal of  the  school  knows  nothing  whatever  of  natural  science, 
and  the  board  of  education  is  entirely  political. 

"  I  know  another  man,  elected  to  precisely  the  same  position 
in  another  city.  A  boy  in  the  school,  who  had  natural  apti- 
tude for  taxidermy  and  kindred  arts,  had  articulated  success- 
fully the  skeleton  of  a  large  tom-cat.  On  the  first  day  this 
teacher  appeared  before  his  class  he  congratulated  them  upon 
having  so  excellent  a  skeleton  of  the  ant-eater.  The  boy  who 
had  set  it  up  rather  curtly  interposed  that  it  wasn't  an  ant- 
eater,  but  a  tom-cat.  The  teacher  told  him  he  must  be  mis- 
taken, and  proceeded  to  prove  it.  The  boy  replied  that  he  had 
killed  the  tom-cat  himself,  and  ought  to  know.  The  teacher 
persisted,  pointing  out  that  the  jaws  had  no  teeth.  The  boy 
retorted  by  showing  the  sockets  from  which  the  teeth  had 
fallen  out.  Even  then  the  teacher  yielded  very  reluctantly, 
and  never  fairly  confessed  that  he  had  made  an  absurd 
blunder." 

"Wasn't  he  quite  a  young  man?"  asked  Roderick. 
'"Yes;  he  had  been  out  of  the  normal  school  only  a  year." 

"Then  he  ought  not  to  be  condemned  for  this  single  slip,  so 
almost  inevitable  when  one  attempts  to  show  off.  I  once  held 
a  like  position  and  did  quite  as  silly  things.  In  college  I 
learned  chemistry  only  from  two  terms  of  text-book  work,  and 
when  I  came  to  teach  it  I  found  I  knew  nothing  of  it  practi- 
cally. I  began,  as  most  beginners  do,  by  spilling  a  little  acid 
upon  my  trousers,  thus  making  a  red  spot.  A  fellow-teacher 
asked  me  if  I  could  not  restore  the  color,  and  I  replied,  no: 


THE    NORWAY    FEEE   HIGH    SCHOOL  461 

that  the  color  had  been  burned  out.  Of  course  I  could  have 
told  her  very  glibly  about  litmus,  but  it  had  not  occurred  to 
me  that  ammonia  would  restore  the  blue  in  my  pantaloons  as 
readily  as  in  the  test-paper. 

"  A  few  days  after,  I  was  showing  chemicals  to  the  class,  and 
one  of  them  inquired  if  I  had  any  aqua  fortis.  I  replied  that 
I  had  none.  'That  looks  like  it,'  she  said,  pointing  to  a  glass- 
stoppered  bottle.  'No,'  said  I;  'that  is  nitric  acid.' ' 

"  Did  you  afterward  acknowledge  your  mistake  ?  "  asked  the 
manager,  eyeing  Roderick  rather  keenly. 

"Oh!  no,  it  wouldn't  have  done  at  that  time.  You  see  I 
was  just  beginning,  and  was  making  blunders  all  the  time. 
If  they  discovered  one,  they  would  be  stimulated  to  watch  for 
more.  While  I  was  getting  started,  I  covered  up  everything 
as  well  as  I  could.  In  this  case,  of  course,  I  looked  up  aqua 
fortis  after  school,  and  found  it  was  the  same  as  nitric  acid. 
I  knew  that  some  of  the  class  would  look  it  up  with  the  same 
result,  so  I  took  care  the  next  day  to  say  incidentally  that  the 
contents  of  our  bottles  were  all  chemically  pure ;  that  this  clear 
yellow  liquid,  for  instance,  was  real  nitric  acid,  and  not  the 
similar  but  impure  article  known  in  commerce  as  aqua  fortis." 

"But  this  sort  of  deception  cannot  be  maintained  with  a 
class  very  long,  Mr.  Hume.  One  may  deceive  men  and  women 
for  years,  but  scholars  will  find  one  out."  , 

"  Oh !  you  may  be  sure  I  got  out  of  these  blunders  as  soon  as 
I  could.  The  first  Saturday  that  came  around  I  went  to  Bos- 
ton, called  on  Professor  Eliot,  told  him  just  the  predicament  I 
was  in,  and  asked  him  to  let  me  spend  my  Saturdays  in  the 
laboratory  of  the  School  of  Technology.  He  gave  me  as  a 
private  tutor  a  student  in  one  of  the  special  courses,  and  I  soon 
picked  up  the  habit  of  handling  apparatus  and  performing  ex- 
periments. In  fact,  after  four  or  five  Saturdays  I  believed  that 
in  manipulation  I  had  caught  up  with  my  instructor.  We  were 
to  make  chlorine  gas;  the  apparatus  was  prepared;  the  oxide 
was  in  the  flask ;  and  the  acid  had  been  poured  upon  it.  No 
gas  came  over.  What  could  the  matter  be  ?  My  tutor  was  at 


462  CHARLES   WILLIAM  BAEDEEN 

a  loss.  He  examined  the  connections  of  the  tubing;  looked  at 
the  bottle,  to  see  that  he  had  taken  the  right  acid;  into  the 
drawer  to  see  that  he  had  taken  the  right  powder.  'I  really 
can't  see  what  the  trouble  is, '  he  said.  Then  I  looked  at  the 
book,  and  suggested  that  we  were  directed  to  heat  the  flask. 
We  did  so,  and  the  gas  came  off  abundantly.  I  concluded  that 
i  f  it  was  I  who  was  to  give  the  instruction,  it  should  not  be  I 
who  paid  for  it.  So  I  settled  with  him,  and  thereafter  did  my 
own  experimenting.  And  what  is  more,  I  taught  my  class 
considerable  chemistry,  little  as  I  knew  when  I  began.  In- 
deed, before  the  term  was  half  over  I  could  acknowledge  a 
mistake  with  perfect  safety." 

"  I  see  you  agree  with  Josh  Billings,  that  the  wise  man  is 
not  he  who  never  makes  a  mistake,  but  he  who  never  makes  the 
same  mistake  a  second  time." 

"  Precisely.  I  could  never  understand  how  a  teacher  can  be 
contented  to  reply  to  the  same  question  day  after  day,  'I  don't 
know.'  It  is  perhaps  excusable  that  he  should  not  know  when 
he  is  first  asked.  But  his  attention  has  now  been  called  to  his 
deficiency,  and  he  should  seize  the  earliest  opportunity  to  make 
it  good.  I  have  seen  a  principal  sit  with  his  elbow  leaning 
upon  Webster's  Unabridged,  and  reply  to  the  question  whether 
it  was  Webster  or  Worcester  who  spelled  offence  with  an  s,  'I 
really  don't  remember.' ' 

"Thus  showing  himself  ignorant  of  the  end  to  be  attained 
by  school  instruction,  which  is  the  acquisition,  not  of  informa- 
tion, but  of  knowledge  how  to  acquire  information,  and  a  habit 
of  acquiring  it  when  it  is  wanted." 

"But  to  get  back  to  our  sheep,"  said  Roderick;  "if  scholar- 
ship is  not  a  requisite  to  success  in  teaching,  what  is  ?  " 

Roderick  Hume  was  not  a  ready  talker.  He  had  nothing  of 
the  light  wit  which  flashes  from  subject  to  subject,  illuminat- 
ing the  most  frothy  topics,  and  at  the  service  indifferently  of 
friend  or  stranger,  philosopher  or  debutante.  Nor  was  he,  on 
the  other  hand,  a  deep  thinker.  But  his  mind  was  quick  to 
catch  a  suggestive  thought,  his  reading  had  been  careful,  and 


THE    NORWAY   FREE    HIGH    SCHOOL  463 

his  memory  supplied  upon  occasion  the  essenoe  of  whatever  he 
had  heard  or  read  which  could  be  made  available.  He  was, 
therefore,  easily  drawn  out  when  brought  face  to  face  with 
thought  or  experience,  and  became  at  once  an  intelligent  lis- 
tener and  an  earnest  debater.  It  was  then  that  he  showed  most 
of  his  real  self:  of  his  strength,  which  lay  in  his  candor  and 
earnestness ;  of  his  weakness,  which  lay  in  his  impulsiveness. 
He  never  said  what  he  did  not  believe;  but  he  believed  too 
readily,  and  expressed  himself  too  positively.  All  this  the 
manager  had  seen,  and  had  continued  the  conversation  in  order 
to  study  him  more  thoroughly. 

"The  fellow  will  make  a  distinct  mark  of  .some  sort,"  he 
thought  to  himself.  "  It  will  pay  me  to  know  him  intimately 
and  follow  his  career." 

So  he  replied : 

"  You  must  bear  in  mind  that  in  this  office  we  must  measure 
success  by  popular  approval.  '  How  much  is  he  paid? '  '  How 
well  is  he  liked  ? '  '  How  much  does  he  have  his  own  way  ? ' 
These  are  the  questions  we  have  to  ask  in  deciding  how  well  a 
man  is  likely  to  succeed  in  another  position.  Of  course,  these 
queries  cover  very  inadequately  the  real  question,  '  How  com- 
petent is  he  to  develop  his  pupils  into  intelligent  men  and 
women  ? '  But  so  imperfect  is  modern  supervision  that  in 
appraising  teachers  for  the  school  board  market  we  have  to 
consider  mainly  what  they  can  show  in  the  way  of  what  are 
called  tangible,  almost  statistical,  results. 

"  Looking  at  the  matter  in  this  light,  the  first  qualification 
is  tact.  Our  teachers  are  elected  annually.  To  be  reflected, 
they  must  get  votes.  To  get  votes  they  must  be  in  the  good 
graces  of  the  board  of  education.  For  this  it  should  be  neces- 
sary only  that  the  teacher  keep  a  good  school.  But  some  of  the 
members  of  an  ordinary  board  of  education  never  visit  the 
school.  Hardly  any  of  them  would  know  whether  a  good  school 
was  being  kept  if  they  did  visit  it.  They  therefore  judge  of 
the  principal  partly  by  what  the  scholars  say,  and  partly  by 
their  own  personal  acquaintance  with  him.  Most  of  them  are 


464  CHARLES   WILLIAM  BARDEEN 

business  men,  with  whose  habits  and  tastes  the  teacher  has  very 
little  in  common  j  hence  he  is  apt  to  approach  them  only  upon 
business  connected  with  the  school.  But  the  man  of  tact  takes 
pains  to  get  acquainted  with  them,  and  show  them  that  he  is 
a  royal  good  fellow,  and  that  he  thinks  they  are  royal  good 
fellows.  He  takes  pains  to  ask  their  advice  upon  subjects  that 
they  know  nothing  about,  but  will  be  flattered  to  be  supposed 
to  know  something  about.  He  takes  pains  that  their  children 
and  the  children  of  their  neighbors  shall  be  noticed  in  school, 
and  given  prominent  places  at  public  entertainments,  avoiding 
at  the  same  time  any  suspicion  of  partiality.  In  short,  he 
recognizes  the  fact  that  very  few  people  know  whether  he  is 
imparting  any  instruction  upon  the  principles  of  sound  educa- 
tion, but  that  all  people  like  to  receive  attention.  And  he 
will  succeed.  If  he  has  with  this  tact  fair  scholarship,  fair 
disciplinary  power,  and  the  habit  of  living  within  his  salary, 
he  will  stay  as  long  as  he  wants  to.  If  he  lacks  any  or  all  of 
these,  he  will  see  in  advance  at  just  what  election  the  majority 
will  turn  against  him,  and  resign  in  time  to  get  a  flaming 
recommendation  from  a  unanimous  board. 

"Now,  do  not  understand  me  that  a  man  cannot  succeed 
without  this  tact.  An  earnest,  conscientious,  judicious  man 
of  good  attainments  may  usually  hold  himself  above  any  mere 
considerations  of  policy.  But  under  pur  system  of  annual 
elections  by  political  boards  of  education,  tact  is  the  only  qual- 
ity certain  of  success." 

"I  don't  believe  I  have  tact,"  said  Roderick,  wondering  if 
the  manager  would  think  him  earnest,  conscientious,  and  judi- 
cious enough  to  get  along  without  it. 

"To  be  frank  with  you,"  was  the  reply,  "I  don't  think  you 
have.  You  are  too  positive,  too  outspoken,  too  independent. 
You  will  meet  considerable  difficulty  that  you  will  afterward 
see  how  you  could  have  avoided,  and  that  you  ought  to  have 
avoided.  I  think  you  will  do  well  to  cultivate  the  habit  of 
consulting  the  members  of  the  board ;  for  you  are  by  law  only 
their  agent  in  the  general  management  of  the  school.  Even 


THE    NORWAY    FEES    HIGH    SCHOOL  465 

if  they  are  incompetent,  and  if  they  seem  willing  to  leave  every- 
thing in  your  hands,  you  will  find  it  wise  to  consult  them, 
both  to  relieve  yourself  from  unnecessary  responsibility,  and 
to  gratify  them  with  exercising  at  least  the  semblance  of  the 
power  with  which  they  are  intrusted." 

At  this  moment  the  manager  was  called  away  for  a  few 
moments,  leaving  Roderick  thoughtful  but  confident.  The 
advice  was  excellent,  and  of  some  assistance.  But  if  leopards 
change  their  spots,  it  is  only  by  gradual  development  through 
successive  generations.  Master  Tommy  Cheetah  may  usually 
be  recognized  in  Hon.  Thomas  Cheetah,  LL.D.,  even  though 
he  has  moved  in  very  good  society  through  the  intervening 
years. 

III.    THE  NORWAY  FREE  HIGH  SCHOOL  AND  COLLEGE  PREPARA- 
TORY INSTITUTION 

The  stage  connected  with  a  western  train,  and  Roderick  had 
several  hours  to  spare  in  Norway.  Thinking  he  could  not 
better  occupy  his  time  than  in  visiting  the  public  school,  he 
made  his  way  up  the  sandy  hillside  on  which  that  institution 
had  been  located. 

Knocking  at  the  first  door  that  led  from  the  hall,  he  inquired 
for  the  principal.  Evidently  visitors  were  frequent  and  wel- 
come, for  the  little  girl  who  answered  his  summons  politely 
invited  him  to  accompany  her,  and  led  him  up  two 'pairs  of 
long  and  steep  stairs  to  the  main  room. 

"That  is  Professor  Cobb,  at  the  desk,"  she  said. 

Professor  Cobb  came  forward  at  once  and  greeted  Roderick 
cordially.  He  was  a  fine-looking  man,  six  feet  tall,  rather 
heavily  built,  and  dressed  loudly  but  neatly.  When  he  had 
learned  Roderick's  name  and  the  business  which  had  called 
him  so  far  away  from  the  city,  he  declared  himself  happy  and 
eager  to  show  him  about.  He  took  him  first  into  the  tower, 
and  pointed  out  landmarks  in  nine  different  counties,  adding 
that  the  Alps  Collegiate  Institute  never  claimed  to  show  but 

8CH.   IN  COM.  — 30 


466  CHARLES    WILLIAM  BARDEEN 

seven.  Then  he  led  him  down  all  the  stairs  into  the  base- 
ment, calling  attention  to  the  furnaces,  which  worked  very 
well  when  aided  by  a  stove  in  each  room,  and  to  the  closets, 
which  were  elegantly  fitted  up,  but  not  used  because  of  some 
trouble  with  the  waterworks.  Then  he  unlocked  the  door 
of  the  apparatus  room,  which  was  profuse  and  handsomely 
arranged,  but  with,  hardly  a  complete  piece  in  the  collec- 
tion. On  inquiry,  Roderick  learned  that  the  apparatus  was 
never  used,  but  had  been  purchased  because  the  Regents 
required  it. 

Then  Professor  Cobb  led  the  way  through  the  departments. 
On  each  floor  were  four  rooms  connected  by  glass  doors  which 
could  be  pushed  back,  thus  throwing  the  four  rooms  into  one. 
Professor  Cobb  had  this  change  made  upon  each  floor  as  they 
passed  through,  and  put  the  children  through  exercises  in 
singing  and  gymnastics.  The  discipline  was  conspicuous. 
Every  eye  of  every  child  rested  upon  Professor  Cobb.  If  a 
mistake  was  made,  Professor  Cobb  snapped  his  fingers  with  a 
report  like  a  popgun,  and  not  only  the  offender  but  the  dozen 
children  nearest  the  offender  nervously  jumped. 

The  teachers  were  under  similar  constraint,  merely  standing 
like  older  pupils,  while  Professor  Cobb  gave  all  the  orders. 
Roderick  was  introduced  to  none  of  them. 

When  they  regained  the  high  schoolroom,  Professor  Cobb 
proposed  to  stop  all  the  exercises  and  have  the  five  hundred 
children  march  by  the  desk,  a  feat  in  which  they  were  well 
practiced.-  Roderick  demurred,  saying  that  he  would  much 
prefer  to  hear  one  or  two  recitations.  When  Professor  Cobb 
urged  that  this  would  be  irksome  to  a  stranger,  Roderick  replied 
that,  on  the  contrary,  nothing  could  be  more  pleasant  and  profit- 
able. He  expected  to  be  engaged  in  similar  work,  and  wanted 
all  the  help  he  could  get  from  the  example  of  a  teacher  so 
successful. 

Professor  Cobb  reluctantly  submitted,  and  handed  Roderick 
the  programme  of  classes.  • 

"Why,  this  is  the  time  for  advanced  geometry,"  said  Rod- 


THE    NORWAY    FREE    11  Id II    SCHOOL  467 

erick,  comparing  the  hours.  "  I  have  been  keeping  you  from 
your  class.  Please  call  it  at  once." 

"Oh!  Miss  Lowe  hears  that  class,"  said  Professor  Cobb. 
"  I  usually  hear  at  this  time  a  class  in  writing  made  up  of  those 
that  require  particular  attention.  But  the  period  is  nearly  ex- 
pired, and  it  is  hardly  worth  while  to  call  a  class  before  the 
next." 

"  Oh !  very  well.  I  see  the  recitations  for  that  hour  are  in 
arithmetic  and  in  Vergil.  I  think  I  will  stay  with  you  and 
hear  the  Latin." 

"Well,  the  fact  is,"  said  Professor  Cobb,  uneasily,  "Miss 
Lowe  takes  the  Latin  classes.  I  find  the  elementar}r  branches 
so  much  neglected  that  I  have  to  give  them  my  whole  time  in 
order  to  make  firm  the  foundation  stones  of  knowledge  —  the 
foundation  stones  of  knowledge,  Sir,"  he  repeated,  helped  back 
to  dignity  by  the  sonorousness  of  the  phrase. 

Perhaps  the  phrase  was  too  sonorous,  for  it  determined  Rod- 
erick to  stay  and  see  some  of  this  fixing  of  foundation  stones. 
In  spite  of  hints,  and  almost  of  command,  he  persisted  in  re- 
maining to  witness  Professor  Cobb's  work  as  a  teacher. 

Professor  Cobb's  plan  was  very  simple.  There  were  some 
forty  in  the  class,  and  all  of  them  were  sent  to  the  board,  thus 
lining  the  room.  The  one  in  the  northeast  corner  was  given 
the  first  problem,  the  one  nearest  to  him  the  next,  and  so  on. 
Each  worked  out  the  one  given,  compared  his  answer  with 
that  printed  in  the  back  part  of  the  book,  and  if  the  two  corre- 
sponded, raised  his  hand,  and  was  given  another  problem.  If 
the  two  did  not  correspond,  the  pupil  tried  to  find  out  where 
the  mistake  was  —  or  rather  how  to  so  alter  his  work  that  his 
answer  should  agree  with  the  key. 

Professor  Cobb  passed  about  from  one  to  another,  helping 
and  correcting.  At  the  close  of  half  an  hour  he  tapped  the 
bell,  gave  the  class  four  pages  more  for  next  time,  and  sent 
them  to  their  seats. 

"Do  you  always  conduct  recitations  in  this  way?"  asked 
Roderick,  somewhat  startled,  but  supposing  Professor  Cobb 


468  CHARLES    WILLIAM  BARDEEN 

must  have  some  good  reason  for  putting  the  foundation  stones 
so  loosely  together. 

"  Yes,  usually.  The  class  is  so  large  that  this  is  the  only 
way  to  get  much  work  out  of  them." 

"And  does  this  prepare  them  for  the  Regents'  examina- 
tions ?  " 

"Not  exactly:  they  recite  one  or  two  terms  to  Miss  Lowe 
before  they  try." 

Further  questions  were  prevented  by  a  tap  of  the  bell  for 
closing  school.  Professor  Cobb  was  himself  again  as  he  gave 
the  signals  for  putting  away  the  books,  rising  simultaneously, 
and  marching  circuitously  out. 

But  when  the  pupils  were  gone,  Roderick  began  to  question. 

"  How  many  grades  were  there  in  the  school  ?  " 

Professor  Cobb  did  not  know  exactly.  Ten  or  a  dozen  he 
should  think ;  Miss  Lowe  would  know. 

"  Did  they  follow  the  object  system  of  teaching  in  the  lower 
rooms  ?  " 

That  was  according  to  the  taste  of  the  teacher.  Professor 
Cobb  did  not  interfere  with  their  methods  if  the  results  were 
satisfactory. 

"Had  kindergartening  ever  been  tried  at  all?" 

Professor  Cobb  was  evidently  puzzled,  but  replied  at  a  ven- 
ture that  considerable  attention  was  given  to  ivies  and  window 
flowers,  but  that  it  did  not  seem  practicable  to  have  any  out- 
door gardening  about  the  grounds. 

Then  Roderick  asked  to  see  the  registers  of  attendance. 
These  were  models  of  neatness  and  ingenuity,  a  complete 
record  being  kept  of  every  child  from  his  entrance  into  the 
school.  Roderick  was  glad  to  be  able  to  give  an  honest  com- 
pliment, and  he  gave  it  heartily. 

"I  have  heard  it  said  that  teachers  were  always  wretched 
penmen,"  he  remarked,  "but  your  handwriting  is  like  copper- 
plate." 

"Oh!  that  isn't  my  writing,"  said  Professor  Cobb;  "I  have 
no  time  for  such  details.  All  that  work  I  leave  to  Miss  Lowe." 


THE   NORWAY   FREE    HIGH    SCHOOL  469 

"By  the  way,  I  should  like  to  see  Miss  Lowe,"  said  Roder- 
ick; "she  must  be  a  paragon." 

"Yes,  she  does  very  well,  under  proper  direction,"  said  Pro- 
fessor Cobb ;  "  but  she  has  gone  home ;  and  I  suppose  we  must 
be  going,  as  the  janitor  is  waiting  to  sweep  out." 

At  this  Roderick  instinctively  turned  to  a  man  in  rusty 
clothes,  with  sleepy-looking  eyes,  who  had  been  sitting  on  the 
platform  and  listening  to  Roderick's  questions  and  the  replies 
they  had  elicited. 

"Undoubtedly  he  is  the  janitor,"  said  Roderick  to  himself. 

At  this  moment  the  supposed  janitor  came  forward  and  was 
introduced  to  Roderick  as  Mr.  Dormouse,  a  member  of  the 
board  of  education.  He  asked  Roderick  a  good  many  questions, 
contrived  to  get  him  away  from  Professor  Cobb,  and  invited 
him  to  walk  down  to  his  store.  This  was  in  a  rickety  old 
frame  building,  apparently  unoccupied  except  in  what  seemed 
to  be  a  sort  of  a  joiner's  shop,  with  a  few  coffins  standing  about 
and  one  or  two  workmen  mending  furniture. 

Mr.  Dormouse  handed  Roderick  a  dilapidated  chair,  and  sat 
down  upon  a  carpenter's  horse.  Looking  from  behind  his 
sleepy  little  eyes,  he  suddenly  asked: 

"  What  do  you  think  of  our  school  ?  " 

Roderick  desired  to  be  as  complimentary  as  possible  and 
mentioned  several  excellent  features. 

Mr.  Dormouse  got  up,  looked  at  the  order-book,  picked  out 
a  pine  coffin,  took  down  some  cheap  muslin  and  some  silver- 
headed  tacks,  began  to  line  the  coffin,  and  after  driving  one 
tack  took  a  half  dozen  others  out  of  his  mouth  long  enough 
to  ask: 

"What  do  you  think  of  Professor  Cobb  as  a  teacher?" 

Roderick  replied  that  Professor  Cobb  seemed  to  be  energetic, 
a  good  disciplinarian,  and  very  polite. 

The  sleepy  little  eyes  looked  around  a  moment,  a  few  more 
tacks  were  driven,  and  again  the  question  came : 

"  Should  you  teach  an  arithmetic  class  as  Professor  Cobb  did  ?  " 

Roderick  was  obliged  to  confess  that  he  did  not  think  he 


470  CHARLES   WILLIAM  HARDEEN 

should,  qualifying  the  statement  by  saying  that  he  had  had  so 
much  less  experience  than  Professor  Cobb  that  probably  he 
did  not  understand  all  that  gentleman's  reasons  for  teaching 
after  that  method. 

Mr.  Dormouse  now  selected  some  narrow  braid  for  the  edge 
of  the  lining,  began  to  tack  it,  and  then  asked : 

"  Would  you  take  the  principalship  of  this  school  at  fifteen 
hundred  dollars  a  year?" 

"Most  certainly,  if  it  was  vacant,"  replied  Roderick.  "But 
does  Professor  Cobb  think  of  leaving?" 

"It  is  being  thought  of  for  him,"  was  the  reply. 

Mr.  Dormouse  then  explained  that  there  was  a  sharp  divi- 
sion of  feeling  upon  the  board.  Four  thought  Professor  Cobb 
was  the  most  capable  teacher  in  the  State.  Four  thought  that 
he  had  held  his  position  as  long  as  he  could  with  profit  to  him- 
self or  the  school.  The  ninth  man  had  wavered,  but  was  now 
convinced  that  Professor  Cobb  had  better  go,  and  it  was  pretty 
well  understood  that  Professor  Cobb  would  resign  after  the 
close  of  the  present  term,  two  weeks  hence.  That  would  leave 
a  vacancy;  and  Mr.  Dormouse  said,  in  his  moderate  way,  that 
when  that  occurred  he  thought  it  might  perhaps  be  well  for 
Roderick  to  become  a  candidate. 

Roderick  promised  to  consider  the  matter,  gave  Mr.  Dor- 
mouse his  address,  and  took  the  train  to  New  York,  hardly 
expecting  to  see  Norway  again,  but  glad  that  he  had  visited 
its  public  school. 

IV.    RODERICK  INTERVIEWS  A  BOARD  OF  EDUCATION 

Within  a  week  Roderick  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Dor- 
mouse, saying  that  Professor  Cobb  had  resigned  his  position 
and  taken  the  Alps  Collegiate  Institute  upon  a  five  years' 
lease.  The  vacancy  was  now  to  be  filled,  and  Roderick  was 
invited  to  apply  in  person.  He  took  the  night  train,  telegraph- 
ing Mr.  Dormouse  to  expect  him  the  next  morning. 

When  he  called  at  the  shop  of  the  wily  undertaker,  he  found 


THE    NORWAY    FREE    HIGH    SCHOOL  471 

him  in  conversation  with  a  short,  stubbed  old  gentleman,  with 
white  beard,  rosy  face,  and  querulous  mouth. 

"Here  he  comes,  now,"  said  Mr.  Dormouse,  as  Roderick 
entered:  "Mr.  Hume,  this  is  Squire  Marvin,  president  of  our 
board." 

"So  you've  come  to  take  Professor  Cobb's  place,"  said  Mr. 
Marvin. 

"I  have  come  to  be  a  candidate  for  the  place  he  has  left 
vacant,"  replied  Roderick. 

"Oh!  well,  well,  I  don't  know.  We've  got  a  pretty  fair 
school,  and  I  believe  in  letting  well  enough  alone.  May  be 
Professor  Cobb  isn't  much  of  a  scholar,  but  my  niece  —  that's 
Miss  Lowe,  the  preceptress  —  makes  up  for  that.  However, 
I've  agreed  to  vote  for  a  new  man,  and  Mr.  Dormouse  here  in- 
sists that  we  sha'n't  be  likely  to  do  much  better  than  take 
you." 

This  was  not  an  enthusiastic  welcome,  but  Mr.  Dormouse 
said,  as  he  walked  out  with  Roderick  to  call  on  the  other 
members  of  the  board : 

"You  are  old  enough  to  know  that  most  people  talk  more 
generously  than  they  act.  Squire  Marvin  is  one  of  the  kind 
who  act  more  generously  than  they  talk.  You  can  count  on 
his  vote  and  on  his  support  till  you  have  had  a  fair  trial.  He 
makes  up  his  mind  slowly;  but  if  you  once  get  his  personal 
good-will,  he  will  find  fault  with  you  in  prosperity  and  stand 
by  you  in  trouble.  This  is  a  different  kind  of  a  man,"  he  con- 
tinued, as  he  turned  the  knob  of  an  entry-door  labeled,  "E. 
Domite,  Attorney  at  Law." 

Mr.  Domite  was  a  flabby  man,  fifty  years  old,  who  hardly 
ever  had  anything  to  do,  but  scraped  a  scanty  living  out  of  a 
small  inheritance.  He  had  spent  a  term  or  two  at  Union  Col- 
lege, and  somehow  got  from  it  an  honorary  A.M.  He  was 
narrow  and  bigoted;  his  conceit  strutted  most  over  his  classi- 
cal education. 

"You  are  a  college  graduate,  I  believe,  sir,"  he  said  to  Rod- 
erick. "Aren't  you  very  fond  of  Vergil?" 


472  CHARLES   WILLIAM  BARDEEN 

"I  think  I  have  derived  some  gratification  from  it,"  said 
Roderick,  rather  surprised;  "but  most  of  the  beautiful  pas- 
sages are  unpleasantly  loaded  down  in  my  memory  with  de- 
clensions and  rules  of  syntax." 

"I  enjoy  Vergil  very  much,"  the  attorney  continued;  "do 
you  remember  that  line,  — 

" '  Arma  virumque  cano  qui  primus  ab  oris  ? ' " 

Roderick  replied  that  he  believed  he  did  occasionally  recall 
it,  having  fitted  for  college  a  score  or  so  of  private  pupils. 

"I  take  great  pleasure  in  my  Latin,"  continued  Mr.  Domite: 
"I  am  the  only  classical  scholar  on  the  board.  I  think  the 
scholars  of  our  country  ought  to  take  a  more  prominent  part 
in  active  life.  I  hope  you  will  do  all  you  can  to  encourage 
among  the  pupils  here  an  appetite  for  the  classic  tongues." 

Roderick  replied  that,  if  elected,  his  taste  and  habits  would 
certainly  prompt  him  to  use  his  efforts  in  that  direction ;  where- 
upon Mr.  Domite  promised  him  his  help,  and  wished  him  good 
morning. 

On  the  same  floor  was  the  office  of  Darius  Angell,  Esq., 
another  attorney,  and  the  clerk  of  the  board.  He  was  a  coarsely- 
dressed  man,  with  a  little  body  and  a  big,  pugnacious  head. 
Up  to  the  time  he  opened  his  mouth  nobody  could  tell  which 
side  of  a  question  he  would  take;  it  is  doubtful  whether  he 
usually  knew  himself;  but  as  soon  as  he  had  taken  it,  he  be- 
lieved that  everybody  on  the  other  side  was  a  knave  and  a  fool, 
and  proceeded  to  proclaim  so,  more  or  less  directly,  but  always 
in  a  loud,  rasping  voice,  and  with  most  offensive  gestures. 
Withal  there  was  about  him  a  certain  assumption  of  dignity 
woefully  at  variance  with  his  appearance  and  habit  of  speech. 
So  ridiculous  was  his  manner  that  disinterested  persons  found 
him  rather  amusing;  but  he  was  not  a  pleasant  person  to  deal 
with. 

When  Mr.  Dormouse  introduced  Roderick,  Mr.  Angell 
looked  up  with  a  jerk  of  his  head  and  asked : 

"  How  are  you  on  your  muscle  ?  " 


"  Very  weak, "  replied  Roderick,  laughing;  "I  never  fought 
but  once.  I  believe  I  was  eight  years  old  then,  and  I  might 
have  whipped,  perhaps ;  but  somehow  or  other  my  nose  got  to 
bleeding,  and  I  wanted  to  go  home  and  wash  it." 

"  Then  you  are  a  coward,  are  you  ?  " 

"An  utter  coward." 

"You'll  never  do  for  this  school." 

"Oh!  don't  misunderstand  me.  I  am  physically  a  coward, 
but  to  compensate,  nature  has  given  me  a  knack  of  keeping  out 
of  danger.  Besides,  I  have  some  pride  and  some  determina- 
tion, and  if  I  were  put  where  I  could  not  avoid  trouble  I  should 
be  apt  to  see  it  through.  You  have  heard  of  the  soldier  re- 
proached on  the  field  of  battle  for  being  scared.  'Yes, '  he  said, 
'I  am  scared,  and  if  you  were  half  as  scared  as  I  am  you  would 
run  away.'  I  don't  think  I  should  run  away  unless  things 
were  in  very  bad  shape." 

"Well,  you  can't  run  this  school,"  said  Mr.  Angell,  deci- 
sively. "We've  got  boys  that  respect  nothing  but  brute  force, 
spoiling  for  a  fight.  You  can't  do  anything  here  with  pala- 
ver. It's  perfectly  d — n  futile." 

This  was  Mr.  Angell's  favorite  expression:  "PufBckly  d — n 
few-tile,"  he  pronounced  it,  and  when  he  had  said  it  there  was 
no  further  use  for  argument.  So  Mr.  Dormouse  took  Roderick 
to  the  office  of  a  lumber  yard  near  by  and  introduced  him  to 
Squire  Coy. 

Squire  Coy  was  rather  below  the  medium  height,  had  a  bil- 
ious face,  and  was  dressed  in  rusty  but  professional  black.  He 
had  studied  law,  and  still  practiced  it  occasionally.  He  had 
made  some  money  in  business,  some  in  speculation,  some  by  a 
second  marriage.  He  might  have  made  a  great  deal  more  ex- 
cept for  a  mental  habit  of  thinking  the  longest  way  around  was 
the  shortest  way  home.  His  hobby  was  diplomacy,  which  he 
supposed  to  consist  in  doing  things  crookedly. 

"H'm,  h'm,"he  coughed,  as  he  scrutinized  Roderick  through 
eyes  which  he  had  trained  to  look  as  if  they  were  deep  set, 
"  we  must  move  cautiously  in  this  matter.  Professor  Cobb  is 


474  CHARLES   WILLIAM  BARDEEN 

very  popular  here,  and  has  many  influential  friends.  I  don't 
know  whether  the  people  will  be  satisfied  to  have  us  hire  a 
stranger.  There  is  Captain  Stone,  who  lives  right  here  in  the 
place,  and  has  a  very  talented  wife  teaching  in  the  school ;  he 
has  applied,  and  there  is  quite  a  sentiment  in  his  favor." 

"I  didn't  know  that  there  was  another  applicant,"  said  Rod- 
erick, turning  to  Mr.  Dormouse. 

"Oh!  yes,"  replied  that  gentleman  leisurely,  "there  are 
some  twenty  applicants.  The  trouble  is  that,  like  this  Cap- 
tain Stone,  they  have  no  education,  or  experience,  or  character, 
so  they  are  not  likely  to  be  engaged." 

"Oh!  well,  well,"  interrupted  the  Machiavelian,  hastily,  "I 
don't  suppose  we  shall  elect  Captain  Stone,  but  we  want  to 
consider  all  aspects  of  the  question  carefully.  Under  existing 
circumstances,  Mr.  Hume,  it  will  be  a  matter  of  delicate  diplo- 
macy to  succeed  in  your  position.  The  board  is  very  evenly 
divided,  and  though  we  may  barely  elect  you,  some  of  us  will 
need  to  be  treated  very  carefully  and  diplomatically.  In  the 
management  of  the  school  you  will  have  to  know  who  the 
parents  of  the  children  are,  and  how  they  stand  on  this  ques- 
tion, and  be  careful  to  placate  those  that  are  not  on  our 
side." 

"Then  I  may  as  well  withdraw  my  application  at  once,"  in- 
terrupted Roderick.  "  You  are  describing  a  course  of  action 
which  is  more  than  any  other  simply  impossible  with  me.  If 
I  come  here,  I  must  come  not  as  on  'your  side  '  or  'the  other 
side,'  but  as  a  teacher,  hired  to  manage  your  school  because 
a  majority  of  the  board  supposes  me  fit  to  do  it.  I  wish  to 
be  judged  solely  by  what  I  accomplish,  and  when  a  majority 
of  the  board  thinks  I  am  not  competent,  I  shall  be  ready  to 

go-" 

Mr.  Coy,  becoming  uneasy  during  this  declaration,  had  got 
his  legs  stretched  out  and  his  index  finger  ready  to  argue  the 
matter  from  a  psychological  foundation  ;  but  Mr.  Dormouse 
took  Roderick  away,  on  the  plea  of  wanting  to  catch  Tom  Baker 
before  he  left  town. 


THE  NORWAY  FREE  IIIGH  SCHOOL  475 

"Tom"  Baker  (nobody  ever  spoke  of  him  as  Mr.  Baker) 
was  the  youngest  son  of  the  wealthiest  man  in  Norway.  He 
had  been  a  pet  child,  and  had  grown  up  with  smooth,  fat,  white 
hands,  and  an  easy,  deliberate  manner,  so  unusual  in  Norway, 
that  he  was  thought  of  rather  as  his  father's  son  than  as  himself 
a  shrewd,  generous,  enterprising  business  man.  But  everybody 
respected  him,  and  everybody  liked  him.  For  three  years  he 
was  a  popular  president  of  the  village,  and  he  had  been  a 
member  of  the  board  of  education  from  the  start.  He  never 
said  much,  he  hardly  ever  interfered  ;  but  he  never  cast  a 
vote  which  subsequent  events  proved  to  have  been  on  the 
wrong  side. 

Mr.  Dormouse  found  him  just  ready  to  drive  his  family  over 
to  Chimborazo.  Mr.  Baker  paused,  with  the  reins  in  one  hand, 
while  he  shook  Roderick's  with  the  other,  looked  the  young 
man  carefully  over  without  seeming  to  do  so,  and  remarked 
laughingly  to  Mr.  Dormouse  : 

"He  doesn't  weigh  so  much  as  Professor  Cobb." 

"  No,  but  he  moves  faster,"  was  the  quick  reply.  "  We  were 
looking  to  you  to  examine  him  a  little." 

"  I  can  do  that  in  one  question.  Mr.  Hume,  what  do  you 
consider  the  first  duty  of  the  principal  of  a  school  ?  " 

"  To  be  boss,"  replied  Roderick  promptly. 

Mr.  Baker  held  out  his  hand  once  more  and  shook  Roderick's 
heartily. 

"  You  are  my  candidate,"  said  he,  "  and  I  want  you  to  take 
dinner  with  us,  next  Sunday." 

Mrs.  Baker  ratified  the  invitation,  and  Roderick  felt  sure  of 
pleasant  acquaintances  in  Norway. 

"  One  member  of  our  board  is  out  of  town,"  said  Mr.  Dor- 
mouse, as  they  walked  back  to  the  busy  part  of  the  village  ; 
"  but  he  always  goes  with  Squire  Coy,  and  we  are  sure  of  his 
vote.  I  shall  have  to  leave  you  here  a  few  minutes  ;  "  and  he 
introduced  Roderick  to  Mr.  Abrahams,  an  insurance  agent. 

Mr.  Abrahams  was  a  heavily-built  man  who  trod  like  an  ele- 
phant, his  sides  swaying  with  every  step.  His  face  was  sensual, 


476  CHARLES   WILLIAM  BARDEEN 

and  his  eyes  betokened  low  cunning.  When  he  saw  the  door 
closed  behind  Mr.  Dormouse,  he  leaned  back,  looked  at  Roderick 
solemnly,  and  asked  in  unctuous  tones  : 

"  Do  you  love  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  with  all  your  heart,  and 
with  all  your  mind,  and  with  all  your  soul,  and  with  all  your 
strength  ?  " 

"No,  sir,"  replied  Roderick. 

Mr.  Abrahams  was  taken  aback.  Shaking  his  head  mourn- 
fully, he  said  : 

"Then  I  cannot  consider  you  a  suitable  principal  for  this 
school." 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  said  Roderick,  and  turned  to  go. 

Like  most  young  people  of  the  present  age,  Roderick  Hume 
lacked  veneration  for  the  experience  and  wisdom  of  older  men  ; 
but  he  regarded  sacred  things  with  a  reverence  which  many 
would  deem  superstitious.  He  could  not  understand  the  pat- 
ronizing familiarity  with  which  so  many  good  men  speak  of  the 
Deity,  or  the  indifference  with  which  they  refer  in  public  to 
their  soul  experience.  It  seemed  to  him  sacrilege  to  thus  vol- 
untarily cast  aside  the  veil  of  what  is  to  each  man  his  Holy  of 
Holies.  As  for  those  who  deem  it  their  duty  to  approach  an 
utter  stranger,  and  seek  to  wrest  from  him  what  Roderick 
thought  must  be  to  any  thoughtful  man  a  secret  between  him- 
self and  his  God,  Roderick  did  not  care  to  question  their  mo- 
tives, —  that  was  their  secret  with  God,  —  but  he  felt  personally 
shocked  and  repelled.  So  he  did  not  attempt  to  explain  his 
abrupt  reply,  and  could  willingly  have  left  Mr.  Abrahams  to 
draw  any  inferences  he  chose.  But  this  was  not  at  all  satisfac- 
tory to  Mr.  Abrahams,  who  hastened  to  say  : 

"  But  I  do  not  understand  this,  Mr.  Hume ;  I  thought  you 
were  a  church-member?" 

"Sol  am,  sir." 

"  Then  why  do  you  say  you  do  not  love  the  Lord  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  say  so,  sir.  You  asked  if  I  loved  him  with  all  my 
heart,  and  soul,  and  mind,  and  strength.  That  question  admits 
of  but  one  answer  by  any  mortal  man.  If  you  were  an  inti- 


THE  NORWAY  FREE  HIGH  SCHOOL  477 

mate  friend,  I  might  possibly  qualify  my  answer  somewhat,  but 
I  cannot  discuss  my  inner  life  with  a  stranger." 

"  But  surely  we  have  the  right  to  ask  the  man  who  wants 
to  be  principal  of  a  school  of  five  hundred  children  what  his 
spiritual  condition  is." 

"Surely  you  have  no  such  right  whatever.  Even  in  the 
matter  of  morality  you  have  the  right  to  ask  only  evidence  of 
good  reputation;  you  can  ask,  no  man  to  give  proof  of  his 
character,  even  by  his  own  mouth." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  we  have  not  the  right  to  ask  you 
if  you  are  honest  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  mean  to  say  so.  In  the  first  place,  the  question 
would  be  absurd,  for  only  a  liar  can  consistently  say  that  he 
never  lies.  But  beneath  that  objection  is  the  broad  principle 
that  a  man's  character  is  his  individual  property.  You  may 
ask  him  what  he  has  done  ;  never  what  he  is." 

"  Give  me  your  hand,"  said  Mr.  Abrahams,  with  enthusiasm.1 
"  I  only  wanted  to  see  if  you  were  good  at  argument,  and  I  find 
you  are  a  whole  team,  with  a  yellow  dog  under  the  wagon." 

Roderick  held  out  his  hand  reluctantly.  Mr.  Abrahams' 
abrupt  change  of  manner  from  sanctimoniousness  to  the  tone 
of  the  bar-room  disgusted  him. 

"  You  see,"  said  Mr.  Abrahams,  "  I  am  the  only  man  on  the 
board  who  has  had  extended  experience  in  school  matters,  so 
that  the  choice  of  teachers  is  practically  left  to  me.  That  was 
why  Mr.  Dormouse  left  you  here,  and  the  board  will  vote  just 
as  I  say.  I  think  you  are  just  what  we  want.  By  the  way, 
have  you  ever  insured  your  life?  " 

Roderick  replied  in  the  negative. 

"You  had  better  take  out  a  policy  in  the  Guardian,  large 
assets,  liberal  premiums,  and  forty  per  cent  dividends.  How 
old  are  you  ?  " 

"  Twenty -four,  but  —  " 

"All  right,  premium  $26.87;  better  make  it  two  thousand 
for  a  start,  $53.74,"  continued  Mr.  Abrahams,  talking  and  writ- 
ing rapidly ;  "you  can  pay  it  easily ;  I  will  guarantee  your  en- 


478  CHARLES    WILLIAM  BA1WEEN 

gagement  by  the  board  ;  the  matter  is  left  to  me ;  give  me  the 
name  of  an  intimate  friend ;  "  and  Mr.  Abrahams  paused  a 
moment. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  you  understand  clearly,"  said  Roder- 
ick, with  deliberate  distinctness,  "that  I  have  no  desire  or 
intention  to  insure  my  life.  When  I  want  to  do  it,  I  will  ex- 
amine into  the  matter  and  see  what  company  I  prefer  to  deal 
with." 

There  was  no  mistaking  his  tone,  and  Mr.  Abrahams  laid 
aside  the  wasted  application. 

"  Well,"  he  said  in  a  moan  of  abused  confidence,  "  I  shall  do 
what  I  can  for  you  anyway,  and  I  hope  you  will  be  elected. 
Are  you  a  married  man?  "  he  asked,  changing  his  tone  once  more. 

"  I  am  not,"  replied  Roderick.  He  did  not  care  to  use  un- 
necessary words. 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  be,"  said  Mr.  Abrahams,  with  a  leer ; 
"  dangerous  place  to  put  a  lusty  young  bachelor.  Ten  school- 
ma'ams,  all  good-looking  and  gushing.  Regular  cock  o'  the 
walk.  I  knew  a  fellow  —  " 

"  Mr.  Abrahams,"  said  Roderick,  now  thoroughly  indignant, 
"  I  do  not  know  whether  or  not  I  shall  come  to  Norway,  but  I 
can  assure  you  that  if  I  do  come  I  shall  deem  it  a  part  of  my 
duty  to  protect  the  reputation  of  my  fellow-teachers;  and  if 
ever  I  hear  again  such  an  insinuation  as  that  from  any  man,  I 
will  treat  him  as  I  would  if  he  said  the  words  of  my  sister." 

As  Roderick  said  this,  he  instinctively  stepped  forward.  Mr. 
Abrahams,  though  he  was  sixty  pounds  heavier,  as  instinctively 
jumped  up  from  his  chair  and  got  upon  the  other  side  of  the 
table. 

It  was  some  time  before  he  recovered  self-possession,  and  it 
was  with  a  sickly  smile  that  he  said  he  was  only  joking.  Rod- 
erick replied  that  he  neither  understood  such  jokes  nor  per- 
mitted them  in  his  presence,  and  turned  once  more  to  leave. 
Mr.  Abrahams  reminded  him  that  Mr.  Dormouse  had  arranged 
to  come  back  for  him  and  urged  him  to  remain,  apologizing 
profusely  for  being  misunderstood,  promising  his  enthusiastic 


THE  NORWAY  FREE  HIGH  SCHOOL  479 

support,  and  professing  joy  that  so  high-principled  though 
hasty  a  young  man  was  to  have  charge  of  the  Norway  school. 

"By  the  way,"  he  added  hastily,  as  he  saw  Mr.  Dormouse 
approaching,  "  do  you  return  to  New  York  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  must  go  back  to-night,  whether  I  am  elected  or  not," 
replied  Roderick. 

"  Then  you  must  have  an  Accident  Insurance  ticket,"  said 
Mr.  Abrahams,  talking  so  fast  that  Roderick  could  not  edge  in 
a  word ;  very  fortunate  that  I  am  an  agent ;  only  fifty  cents 
for  13000,  and  really  insures  safety.  Here  you  are,  No.  15,432, 
good  from  seven  to-night  till  seven  to-morrow  night." 

"  But  J  have  already  said  that  I  wanted  no  insurance,"  said 
Roderick. 

"Life  insurance,  long  policy,  I  supposed  you  meant,"  said 
Mr.  Abrahams.  "  I  thought  every  prudent  young  man  took 
these.  Never  mind ;  the  tickets  are  numbered  consecutively, 
and  I  shall  have  to  pay  for  it  myself,  but  no  matter."  And 
Mr.  Abrahams  sighed. 

Just  then  Mr.  Dormouse  entered. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  our  candidate  ? "  he  asked  of  Mr. 
Abrahams. 

"  A  very  excellent  and  able  young  man,"  replied  Mr.  Abra- 
hams, in  a  tone  of  duty  unrewarded  and  kindness  unappre- 
ciated. "  We  are  remarkably  fortunate  in  being  able  to  get 
him,  and  I  shall  use  all  my  influence  for  him." 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  Mr.  Abrahams  ? ' '  asked  Mr. 
Dormouse  of  Roderick  as  they  went  downstairs. 

"  So  far  as  he  has  shown  himself  I  should  pronounce  him  a 
liar,  a  lecher,  and  a  thief,"  replied  Roderick.  "  Whatever  other 
characteristics  he  may  have  in  abeyance  I  don't  know." 

Mr.  Dormouse  chuckled  inwardly,  but  to  Roderick  he  said 
gravely : 

"  I  see  that  you  rather  pride  yourself  upon  strong  language, 
Mr.  Hume.  It  is  an  effective  weapon,  but  should  never  be 
flourished.  We  have  only  one  more  member  to  call  on,"  he 
added,  as  they  entered  a  wholesale  clothing  establishment. 


480  CHARLES   WILLIAM  BARDEEN 

Mr.  Blarston,  the  proprietor,  was  one  of  the  self-made  men 
who,  as  has  been  well  said,  worship  their  creators.  He  was 
brutal,  grasping,  and  passionate,  but  brimming  with  physical 
energy  and  rude  mental  force. 

"  So  you  are  the  fellow  they  have  kicked  out  Professor  Cobb 
to  make  way  for,"  he  said,  eyeing  Roderick  with  a  contempt  he 
took  no  pains  to  disguise.  "  Well,  I  shall  go  dead  against  you. 

Four  or  five fools  on  the  board  —  and  you  are  among  'em, 

Jim  Dormouse  —  have  got  a  majority  and  are  going  to  try 
to  run  the  school  with  new-fangled  notions.  Now  I  know 
something  about  men,  and  I  say  you're  no  more  fit  to  take 
Professor  Cobb's  place  in  that  school  than  you  are  to  cut  out 
frock-coats  in  that  there  room.  Now  you  know  what  I  think 
of  you,  and  it  don't  cost  you  a  cent." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  said  Roderick,  quietly ;  "  it  would  cost  you  a 
good  deal  more  than  a  cent  to  find  out  what  I  think  of  you." 

"By ,  I'd  have  you  know  I've  got  a  vote  on  that 

board,"  burst  out  Mr.  Blarston  in  a  voice  that  could  be  heard 
a  block  away. 

"  Oh  I  yes,  I  know  you  are  the  ninth  part  of  the  board," 
returned  Roderick,  with  most  provoking  calmness ;  "  but  I 
don't  believe  you  are  the  ninth  part  of  a  man,  if  you  are  a 
tailor.  Allow  me  to  bid  you  good  morning,"  and  with  a  low 
bow  he  walked  out  of  the  store,  leaving  Mr.  Blarston  speech- 
less. 

"I  thought  you  called  yourself  a  coward,"  said  Mr.  Dor- 
mouse, as  they  passed  down  the  street;  "you  didn't  seem 
much  scared  by  John  Blarston's  insults." 

"  Scared  by  his  insults !  "  repeated  Roderick ;  "  why,  such  a 
man  as  that  cannot  insult  me.  A  man  so  gratuitously  rude 
merely  proclaims  that  he  knows  no  better.  I  confess  I  am 
ashamed  of  that  fling  at  his  occupation.  By  indulging  in  it 
I  lowered  myself  to  his  level ;  but  the  weapon  came  to  my 
hand  and  I  flourished  it  before  I  thought."  Roderick  had 
already  adopted  Mr.  Dormouse's  metaphor. 

"  I  wondered  how  you  came  to  say  that,"  said  Mr.  Dor- 


THE  NORWAY  FREE  HIGH  SCHOOL  481 

mouse.  "  If  you  had  known  John  Blarston  from  a  boy,  you 
couldn't  have  done  better.  He  admires  pluck  and  wit  above 
everything,  and  you  have  won  him  over  to  your  side." 

"  Won  him  over  to  my  side  ? "  repeated  Roderick,  now 
thoroughly  astonished. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  take  my  word  for  it,  the  vote  will  be  six  to  three, 
instead  of  five  to  four,  as  we  expected." 

"Who  will  be  the  three? " 

"  Domite,  Angell,  and  Abrahams." 

V.    RODERICK  GETS  ACQUAINTED 

When  Roderick  reached  New  York,  the  next  morning,  he 
received  a  telegram  from  Mr.  Dormouse  announcing  his  elec- 
tion. As  the  term  was  to  begin  January  2,  Roderick  went  to 
Middletown  to  spend  Christmas,  and  started  for  Norway  the 
next  day.  When  he  called  on  Mr.  Dormouse  for  the  keys  of 
the  school  building,  he  surprised  that  worthy  gentleman,  who 
had  not  expected  him  till  the  opening  of  the  term.  Roderick 
explained  that  when  the  term  began  the  scholars  and  teachers 
would  be  new  to  him,  and  he  wanted  at  least  to  be  familiar 
with  the  building,  the  text-books,  and  the  course  of  study; 
moreover,  there  might  be  little  repairs  needed  before  the  school 
assembled. 

Mr.  Dormouse  was  pleased  at  this  evidence  of  enterprise, 
and  offered  to  accompany  Roderick  at  once.  They  stopped 
at  a  house  near  the  building,  and  called  for  the  janitor,  old 
Sam  Sullivan. 

Sam  was  a  character  in  his  way.  He  was  a  small  man,  with 
hair  so  pale  that  it  seemed  to  have  been  bleached  out,  and  a 
beard  of  the  same  shade  always  sprouting  through  his  face. 
He  was  round-shouldered,  and  leaned  so  far  forward  when 
he  walked  that  each  step  seemed  to  arrest  the  tumble  by 
which  he  was  falling  from  the  last.  He  had  been  janitor  of 
the  building  ever  since  its  erection,  "and  considered  himself 
the  real  engineer  of  the  school.  Teachers  might  come  and 

SCH.  IK  COM.  —  31 


482  CHARLES    WILLIAM  BARDEEN 

teachers  might  go,  but  he  went  on  forever.1  The  furnaces  he 
spoke  of  as  tenderly  as  though  they  were  children.  A  wind 
rising  at  night  would  awake  him,  as  others  are  wakened  by 
the  crying  of  a  baby ;  and  he  would  jump  up,  dress,  and  run 
to  adjust  the  drafts,  though  it  were  two  o'clock  of  the  iciest 
day  in  winter.  Like  most  very  watchful  parents,  he  was  dis- 
appointed in  his  children.  The  furnaces  were  wayward,  and 
would  not  heat  the  building.  On  three  consecutive  days  of 
the  last  winter  Sam  had  stood  by  the  door  with  an  aching 
heart  and  seen  the  pupils  file  out  and  go  home  because  the 
thermometers  would  not  expand  above  fifty  degrees.  Then 
wood  stoves  had  been  put  into  each  room,  and  this  disgrace 
to  his  furnaces  Sam  felt  keenly. 

All  this  and  more  the  garrulous  janitor  poured  forth,  as  they 
made  their  way  into  the  building.  But  Roderick  found  dirt 
in  unexplored  corners,  aged  cobwebs  on  the  recesses  of  entry 
windows,  and  dust  everywhere. 

"The  first  thing  will  be  to  have  the  building  thoroughly 
cleaned,"  he  said. 

Sam  stood  aghast. 

"  Why,  the  floors  was  washed  down  to  the  very  cellar  on  the 
Monday  after  school  closed,"  he  said. 

"Nevertheless,"  said  Roderick,  "the  building  is  not  clean. 
It  might  be  clean  for  a  granary  or  a  stable,  but  it  is  dirty  for 
a  schoolroom.  In  the  first  place,"  he  added,  peering  into  one 
of  the  desks,  "these  must  be  thoroughly  brushed  out.  Look 
at  that,"  and  as  he  withdrew  his  hand  he  showed  the  tips  of 
his  fingers  covered  with  a  bluish  dust,  almost  as  thick  and 
dense  as  the  wadding  of  a  shoddy  overcoat. 

Sam  was  inclined  to  grumble,  but  Roderick  was  peremptory. 
Here  were  blackboards  that  needed  new  coats  of  slating,  desks 
that  must  be  screwed  down  tighter,  a  seat  that  needed  mend- 

1  A  parody  of  the  famous  line  from  Tennyson's  The  Brook : 

"  For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 
But  I  go  on  forever." 


THE  NORWAY  FREE  HIGH   SCHOOL  483 

ing,  a  window  weight  that  had  slipped  off  the  pulley,  a  blind 
that  must  be  placed  so  as  to  swing  without  scraping  the 
window-sill.  A  fine  set  of  wall-maps  and  another  of  physio- 
logical charts  were  found  in  the  garret.  Roderick  brought 
them  down  and  drew  a  plan  for  standards,  which  Mr.  Dor- 
mouse promised  to  have  made  at  once.  The  covers  of  some 
of  the  reference  books  were  loose.  Roderick  ordered  them 
taken  to  the  binders.  Two  cabinet  organs  were  wheezy,  and 
upon  some  tones  mute.  Roderick  drew  out  the  defective  reeds, 
and  removed  the  substances  which,  by  slipping  in,  had  inter- 
rupted vibration ;  and  he  showed  Sam  how  to  tighten  the  bel- 
lows. In  short,  he  laid  out  work  enough  to  keep  the  janitor 
busy  the  rest  of  the  week,  and  went  to  dinner  hungry  and 
happy. 

Mr.  Dormouse  had  remained  all  the  forenoon,  saying  little, 
but  observing  Roderick  with  great  interest.  When  he  left 
Roderick,  he  said : 

"  You  have  hit  me  this  morning  harder  than  you  did  Sam 
Sullivan.  The  rules  of  our  board  refer  all  these  things  that 
you  have  been  doing  to  the  Supply  Committee,  of  which  I  am 
chairman.  I  thought  matters  were  in  pretty  fair  shape,  but  I 
see  your  eyes  are  sharper.  Go  ahead  and  get  anything  you 
wish  done.  Just  let  me  know  what  it  is,  and  I  will  report  to 
the  board  that  I  ordered  it  myself." 

"Why,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Roderick.  "  I  did  not  know 
I  was  exceeding  my  authority.  I  supposed  all  these  duties  fell 
naturally  upon  the  principal." 

"Well,  no,  not  regularly,  at  least  in  this  state,"  said  Mr. 
Dormouse.  "  No  doubt  they  should,  for  he  spends  all  his  time 
in  the  schoolroom  and  ought  to  know  better  than  any  one  else 
what  needs  to  be  done  and  how  it  needs  to  be  done.  But  the 
regulations  of  most  union  schools  so  divide  all  responsibility 
among  different  committees  that  theoretically  the  principal  does 
little  more  than  run'a  locomotive  of  approved  pattern  upon  rails 
already  laid.  Practically,  more  or  less  of  the  construction  of 
the  locomotive  and  the  laying  out  of  the  track  is  left  to  the 


484  CHARLES   WILLIAM  BAEDEEN 

principal,  according  to  his  mental  strength  and  the  confidence 
which  he  can  inspire  in  the  board.  If  you  succeed  as  well  as 
I  have  reason  to  hope,  you  can  have  your  own  way  in  nearly 
everything ;  but  you  will  save  friction  by  consulting  our  printed 
regulations,  learning  the  names  of  the  committees,  and  consult- 
ing them  before  you  take  important  action  in  the  matters  which 
the  board  puts  under  their  direction.  Fortunately,  I  am  chair- 
man of  the  Supply  Committee;  and  Tom  Baker,  of  the  Com- 
mittee on  Course  of  Study.  The  Committee  on  Teachers  is 
headed  by  Squire  Marvin.  You  will  have  to  approach  him 
with  more  care.  If  possible,  always  talk  with  him  so  as  to 
get  him  to  be  the  first  to  propose  what  you  want  done,  and 
then  allow  yourself  to  be  persuaded  that  he  is  right.  Do 
you  see  ?  " 

Roderick  saw,  and  managed  so  well  during  the  week  that  the 
board  not  only  approved  of  the  minor  changes  he  made,  but  in 
a  rare  fit  of  enterprise,  supplanted  the  faulty  furnaces  by  the 
finest  steam-heating  apparatus  in  the  market. 

Roderick  busied  himself  also  with  the  course  of  study.  He 
had  learned  by  inquiry  that  the  higher  teachers  were  all  out  of 
town,  and  as  Professor  Cobb  had  moved  to  Chimborazo,  and 
was  absorbed  in  his  new  enterprise,  Roderick  could  think  of  no 
other  way  to  learn  the  inner  working  of  the  school  than  by 
studying  the  registers.  These  had  been  carefully  kept  and 
were  systematically  filed  away.  He  spent  the  entire  afternoon 
upon  them,  till  he  knew  the  names  of  all  the  teachers,  the 
studies  of  each  room,  the  number  of  pages  in  each  text-book 
gone  over  in  a  term,  the  frequency  of  reviews  and  examina- 
tions, and  the  results  of  the  latter.  Then  he  took  down  some 
of  the  examination  papers  from  the  neatly  docketed  files,  and 
compared  them  with  the  marks  given,  and  whistled.  He  car- 
ried home  a  large  package  of  examination  papers  and  spent 
the  evening  upon  them,  and  went  to  bed  astonished  and  dis- 
heartened. He  found  papers  marked  from  eighty  to  one  hun- 
dred per  cent  in  which  there  was  not  a  single  accurate 
answer,  while  the  errors  in  grammar  were  exceeded  only 


THE  NORWAY  FREE  HIGH  SCHOOL  485 

by  those  in  spelling.  He  learned  that  there  had  been  no 
supervision  of  examinations,  each  teacher  having  held  her 
own  upon  questions  given  by  herself.  Thus,  of  Miss  Lowe's 
papers,  which  were  the  only  respectable  ones  in  the  list,  few 
were  marked  above  seventy-five  per  cent,  while  Mrs.  Stone's, 
which  were  in  every  way  disgraceful,  were  all  marked  above 
ninety. 

By  Saturday  night  Roderick  was  tired,  but  he  had  a  fair 
knowledge  of  the  work  done  in  each  department  of  the  school, 
and  a  definite  plan  laid  out  for  the  coming  term.  He  spent 
a  pleasant  Sunday  at  Tom  Baker's,  and  awoke  on  Monday 
morning  thoroughly  ready  for  work. 

VI.    RODERICK  FAILS  IN  DISCIPLINE 

As  Roderick  approached  the  school  building  on  Monday 
morning,  he  had  to  pass  through  a  crowd  of  boys  eager  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  new  principal.  To  eyes  accustomed  to 
the  burly  form  of  Professor  Cobb,  Roderick's  compact  figure 
seemed  Liliputian.  Two  or  three  of  the  larger  boys  offered 
confidently  to  bet  they  could  lick  him;  and  the  venturesome 
spirits  vied  in  demonstrations  of  impudence.  One  of  them 
smoked  a  cigar  under  the  very  eaves  of  the  building.  Another 
pushed  his  companion  directly  in  Roderick's  pathway.  A  third 
planted  himself  in  a  tragic  attitude,  and  declared: 

"  These  are  Clan  Alpine's  warriors  true, 
And,  stranger,  I  am  Roderick  Hume." 

The  boys  were  rather  puzzled  to  find  that  Roderick  neither 
interfered  with  nor  ignored  them.  He  looked  straight  at  them, 
not  smiling,  nor  frowning,  but  simply  observing.  They  felt, 
somehow,  that  they  were  being  weighed  in  the  balance  by 
one  who  would  not  hesitate  at  his  own  time  to  proclaim  in 
what  he  found  them  wanting. 

Miss  Bell  met  him  at  the  door,  took  his  hand  tenderly, 
accompanied  him  upstairs,  and  with  an  air  of  proprietorship 


486  CHAELES   WILLIAM  BAEDEEN 

introduced  him  to  the  other  teachers,  all  of  whom  were  gathered 
about  the  principal's  desk. 

Roderick  had  made  himself  so  familiar  with  their  reports 
that  he  had  no  difficulty  in  rapidly  assigning  to  each  the  work 
of  the  day.  In  general,  he  desired  them  to  start  their  classes 
just  where  they  had  stopped  the  term  before,  and  to  continue 
as  though  no  change  of  principals  had  occurred. 

"  What  new  text-books  are  you  going  to  introduce  ? "  asked 
.  Miss  Laurie  Simpkins. 

"  I  shall  introduce  no  new  text-books  till  I  have  introduced 
myself,"  replied  Roderick ;  "  I  propose  to  become  thoroughly 
familiar  with  the  work  you  have  been  doing  before  I  suggest 
any  changes,  and  we  need  waste  no  time  in  getting  started. 
Assign  the  lessons  at  once,  please,  and  begin  the  recitations  at 
the  second  period.  Classify  the  new  pupils  as  well  as  you  can, 
and  give  them  all  something  to  do." 

Nine  o'clock  was  at  hand,  and  Roderick  directed  Sam  to  ring 
the  bell.  The  boys  came  upstairs  in  all  the  noisy  ways  that 
the  water  comes  down  at  Lodore,1  and  shuffled  to  their  seats  like 
delegates  to  a  Democratic  caucus.  Roderick  waited  till  every 
scholar  was  seated,  every  pair  of  lips  still,  and  every  pair  of 
boots  motionless.  When  oppressive  silence  at  length  pre- 
vailed, Roderick  rose  quietly,  looked  over  the  room  in  a 
glance  that  took  in  every  face,  and  said  in  a  low  but  distinct 
tone : 

"  From  what  I  have  seen  and  heard  this  morning,  I  infer  that 
you  and  I  look  differently  upon  the  relation  in  which  I  stand 
to  you.  I  heard  one  boy  say  that  I  didn't  weigh  enough  to  run 
this  school "  (here  a  smile  swept  over  the  room,  but  Roderick's 
face  was  imperturbable) ;  "  I  heard  another  boy  recklessly  offer 
to  bet  ten  cents  he  could  lick  me  "  (the  smile  was  now  a  snigger, 
but  the  boy  in  question  looked  scared);  "a  majority  of  you  seem 
disposed  to  limit  your  improper  conduct  only  by  the  probability 


1  A  cascade  of  England  on  a  small  affluent  of  the  Derwent  —  Water  Lake, 
near  Keswick,  Cumberland  County. 


THE  NORWAY  FREE  HIGH  SCHOOL  487 

of  detection  and  punishment.  In  other  words,  you  look  upon 
me  as  a  policeman,  whose  business  it  is  to  be  on  the  lookout  for 
mischief,  and  to  detect  and  punish  you  if  I  can. 

"  Now,  I  am  not  sure  there  might  not  be  some  fun  in  this. 
It  would  be  a  sort  of  game.  I  like  games,  and  always  beat 
when  I  can.  If  I  were  to  play  this  game  with  you,  there  might 
be  a  good  deal  of  beating  —  some  of  it  with  a  hickory  ruler." 
(The  smiling  was  now  rather  apprehensive,  and  in  some 
instances  defiant.)  "I  can  imagine  how  the  game  would  be 
played.  I  start  for  school  in  the  morning,  and  approach  a  half 
a  dozen  boys.  As  soon  as  I  see  them,  I  take  it  for  granted 
they  are  concocting  some  villainy,  and  hasten  to  surprise  them. 
One  of  them  gets  a  glimpse  of  me,  and  aspirates  quickly : 
'  Cheese  it !  old  Hume's  coming,'  and  they  all  scatter  like  the 
wind."  (Unrestrained  laughter  now.  Evidently  this  new 
principal  had  been  there,  the  students  thought.) 

"  I  enter  the  building  and  come  up  the  stairs,  peering  into 
every  corner,  and  perhaps  looking  through  the  keyhole  before 
I  enter  a  room,  to  spy  out  any  mischief  afloat.  When  the  bell 
rings,  I  station  a  teacher  at  every  turn  of  the  stairs  to  mark  for 
punishment  the  fellows  who  come  up  like  rowdies."  (A  rather 
disconcerted  look  is  exchanged  among  the  boys.)  "I  strike  the 
bell  three  or  four  times  to  get  you  into  order,  and  perhaps  have 
to  repeat  the  Lord's  Prayer  with  my  eyes  open  to  see  what  boy 
is  sticking  a  pin  into  the  one  in  front  of  him."  (The  smiling 
was  now  mostly  lost  in  amazement ;  what  kind  of  a  man  was  this 
who  knew  all  these  things  and  talked  right  out  about  them?) 

"  I  begin  the  recitations  of  the  day,  and  call  up  my  first  class. 
I  take  it  for  granted  they  have  not  prepared  their  lessons,  and 
so  ask  them  all  around,  in  order  to  get  them  to  lie  about  it  and 
then  punish  them  for  that.  I  spend  half  my  time  in  watching 
to  see  who  is  peeping  into  his  book,  and  the  other  half  in  put- 
ting down  the  names  of  those  who  are  whispering  in  the  back 
part  of  the  room.  Consequently  my  class  gets  very  little  in- 
struction. Finally,  I  tell  all  of  them  to  stay  after  school  and 
recite  over  again,  and  then  give  them  twice  as  much  for  next  day. 


488  CHARLES   WILLIAM  SARDEEN 

"  And  so  we  go  on,  you  spending  all  your  time  in  trying  to 
shirk  study  and  play  tricks  on  me,  and  I  spending  all  my  time 
in  trying  to  find  you  out  and  punish  you  for  it.  I  come  here 
day  after  day,  as  to  a  treadmill,  where  I  must  wear  through  six 
hours  without  getting  put  out  of  the  building;  and  you  come 
here  because  your  parents  make  you.  At  the  end  of  the  term 
you  have  learned  nothing,  and  have  as  the  result  of  fourteen 
weeks'  attendance  nothing  to  boast  of,  except  that  you  whispered 
eighty-one  times  and  pulled  a  chair  out  from  under  Jimmy 
Smith  without  being  caught;  while  I  have  nothing  to  point  to 
except  a  record  of  three  hundred  recesses  taken  away,1  seventy 
hours  kept  after  school,  six  hundred  and  nineteen  f erulings,  and 
about  three  regular  knock-down  fights. 

"  How  do  you  like  the  programme,  scholars  ?  "  (Emphatic 
shakings  of  the  head,  and  considerable  manifest  respect  for 
so  bold  a  painter  of  a  truthful  picture.)  "And  yet  you  see  it 
is  precisely  the  programme  you  yourselves  lay  down  for  me  to 
follow.  I  come  here  a  stranger,  and,  I  trust,  a  gentleman. 
Instead  of  greeting  me  pleasantly,  as  you  would  a  stranger  and 
a  gentleman  who  visited  your  father's  house,  you  gather  about 
my  path,  stare  insolently,  make  insulting  remarks,  stamp  up- 
stairs like  rowdies,  and  shuffle  to  your  seats  with  impudent 
bravado.  Now,  why  do  you  do  this  ?  You  are  not  rowdies. 
Some  of  you  who  behaved  worst  this  morning  are  boys  evidently 
well  brought  up  at  home  and  accustomed  to  polite  intercourse. 
If  you  had  met  me  at  your  own  home  or  at  your  father's  office, 
you  would  have  bowed  politely  and  offered  to  assist  me  in  any 
way  you  could.  You  behaved  as  you  did  this  morning  simply 
because  you  were  following  the  old  tradition  that  prevails  in 
many  schools,  that  the  teacher  is  a  policeman,  to  be  taken 
advantage  of  whenever  possible. 

"  Now,  I  do  not  come  here  as  a  policeman.     In  the  first  place, 

1  This  taking  away  of  three  hundred  recesses  during  a  seventy  days'  atten- 
dance is  on  the  principle  of  the  cumulative  sentence  in  law,  whereby  several 
terms  of  imprisonment  are  added  together  for  a  punishment  of  different  offenses, 
and  a  man  may  be  sentenced  for  more  than  a  lifetime. 


THE  NORWAY  FREE  HIGH  SCHOOL  489 

I  have  no  time  for  it.  Here  you  are,  young  men  and  young 
women,  some  of  you  getting,  in  the  next  few  weeks,  or  months, 
or  years  at  most,  all  the  school  instruction  you  will  ever  have. 
Think  how  much  there  is  to  do  in  this  next  term,  and  you  will 
see  that  no  time  is  left  for  you  to  concoct  mischief  or  for  me  to 
ferret  it  out.  I  have  come  here  expecting  to  work  hard  with 
you.  I  want  you  all  to  work  hard  with  me  —  not  for  me,  not 
under  me,  but  with  me.  I  ask  no  one  here  to  study  harder 
than  I  do.  I  ask  no  one  to  take  more  interest  in  his  lessons 
than  I  shall  take  in  them.  I  want  you  all  to  look  upon  me  as 
put  here  to  help  you  in  your  effort  to  make  the  most  of  your- 
selves. This  is  not  my  school,  but  our  school.  You  do  not 
come  here  to  obey  or  to  disobey,  but  to  study.  Whatever  rules 
we  may  find  necessary  for  ourselves  will  come,  not  from  my 
notions  of  discipline,  but  from  our  necessities  as  students. 
And  to  all  such  rules  you  are  to  consider  me  just  as  subject 
as  yourselves.  If  it  is  your  duty  to  come  here  promptly  at 
nine,  it  is  my  duty  to  dismiss  you  promptly  at  twelve,  and  I 
shall  do  it.  I  want  you  boys  to  count  me  in  when  it  comes 
to  hop-skip-and-jump 1  and  baseball.  I  don't  know  but  I  may 
venture  upon  a  game  of  marbles  next  spring,  when  the  snow 
goes  off. 

"  But  I  have  said  enough,  I  think,  to  assure  you  that  I  come 
here  as  your  friend  and  coworker ;  and  if  I  read  your  faces 
aright,  I  shall  have  your  hearty  cooperation." 

Roderick  then  conducted  the  usual  morning  exercises,  and 
plunged  into  the  business  of  the  day.  There  was  no  scuffling 
on  the  stairs  when  the  boys  went  down  at  recess,  or  when  they 
came  back.  Indeed,  during  the  entire  term  no  scholar  addressed 
Roderick  disrespectfully  or  hesitated  to  obey  him. 

"  You  see,"  said  one  of  the  big  boys  who  were  discussing 
Roderick's  speech  about  the  stove  in  Jim  Dormouse's  shop, 
"you  see  he  spoke  just  as  if  he  meant  every  word  he  said." 


1  A  favorite  game  played  by  taking  in  succession  a  leap  with  one  foot,  a  skip, 
and  a  jump  with  both  feet.    . 


490  CHARLES   WILLIAM  BARDEEN 

The  boy  hit  pretty  near  the  secret.  He  would  have  hit 
closer  if  he  had  attributed  Roderick's  control  of  the  school  to 
the  fact  that  he  did  mean  every  word  he  said. 

Of  course  the  discipline  of  the  school  was  not  perfect.  There 
are  disorderly  elements  in  every  school  this  side  of  Heaven, 
except  perhaps  in  Boston.  But  the  moral  sentiment  of  the 
school  preponderated  heavily  in  favor  of  quiet,  honest  work. 
Some  three  or  four  large  girls  found  the  atmosphere  uncon- 
genial and  withdrew  from  school.  Several  small  nervous  boys 
were  active  specks  upon  the  sun,  meaning  well  enough,  but 
fidgety  by  nature.  Then  there  were  a  few  of  the  unfortunates 
who  are  born  tired,  and  never  recover  from  it,  and  others  whose 
heads  were  marble  to  receive  and  wax  to  retain.  But  deter- 
mined, persistent  disobedience  was  unknown,  unthought  of. 
In  the  schoolroom,  on  the  playground,  on  the  ice,  at  evening 
gatherings,  wherever  his  scholars  were,  Roderick  was  in  active 
demand.  Best  of  all,  their  liking  was  built  upon  a  hearty  and 
growing  respect. 


IX 

THOMPSON 
ECKSTEIN 


D'ARCY  WENTWORTH   THOMPSON 

MANY  of  the  elderly  teachers  of  Latin  in  the  United  States  will  recall  the 
visit  to  this  country  (in  1867)  of  the  distinguished  Professor  of  Greek  in 
Queen's  College,  Galway,  Ireland,  and  his  addresses  at  the  Lowell  Institute, 
in  Boston.  The  incident  was  remarkable  chiefly  for  its  influence  upon  the 
teaching  of  Latin  in  the  United  States. 

D'Arcy  Wentworth  Thompson  was  among  the  most  famous  of  the  Old- 
World  schoolmasters  before  his  appointment  to  the  Professor's  chair  in  the 
College,  in  1864.  For  more  than  a  dozen  years  he  was  Classical  Master  in 
the  Edinburgh  Academy,  and  prepared  large  classes  of  boys  for  admission 
to  the  universities.  Characteristically  Scotch  in  his  thoroughness  as  a 
teacher,  he  was  in  other  respects  the  very  antipode  of  the  traditional  Scotch 
schoolmaster.  He  had  succeeded  in  escaping  from  the  deep  ruts  into  which 
the  schoolmasters  of  his  time  had  fallen.  He  was  one  of  the  most  original, 
independent,  broad-minded  teachers  in  the  world,  and  one  of  the  most 
thoroughly  cultured.  His  ideas  were  generally  those  of  the  New  Education. 

Professor  Thompson  is  a  native  of  the  Border,  where  the  English  and 
Scotch  meet  and  coalesce  like  confluent  streams.  In  his  college  days  he  was 
a  Cantab  —  that  is,  a  student  of  the  University  of  Cambridge.  While  at 
Edinburgh  —  "Dunedin,"  as  he  affectionately  calls  the  place  in  his  writings 
—  he  hastily  wrote,  as  a  holiday  recreation,  his  Day  Dreams  of  a  School- 
master. The  book  proved  a  delight  to  educators  and  students,  especially  to 
those  who  were  versed  in  the  classics.  It  has  been  republished  in  the 
United  States. 

Professor  Thompson's  lectures  on  education  at  the  Lowell  Institute  have 
been  published  since,  under  the  title  Wayside  Thoughts.  Among  the  author's 
other  works  are  Ancient  Leaves;  Scalce  Novce,  or  A  Ladder  to  Latin;  and 
Sales  Attici,  or  the  Wit  and  Wisdom  of  the  Athenian  Drama.  It  is  no  dis- 
paragement to  Professor  Thompson's  distinguished  labors  at  Queen's  Col- 
lege (where  he  still  holds  the  chair  of  Greek)  to  say  that  he  will  probably 
be  remembered  more  as  the  Scotch  schoolmaster  than  as  the  Irish  professor. 
In  the  preparatory  school,  the  greatest  opportunity  was  offered  to  him  for 
illustrating  and  impressing  his  own  advanced  views  of  the  matter  and  method 
of  education ;  and  this  opportunity  was  fully  improved. 

493 


494  D'ARCY   WENTWOETH  THOMPSON 

Thompson's  influence  as  an  educator  is  felt  not  only  in  the  United  States 
and  in  Canada,  but  also  in  Australia  and  New  Zealand  and,  in  fact,  through- 
out the  British  Empire. 

"  He  knows  the  nature  of  boys,"  says  an  English  Journal  of  Education, 
"  and  is  in  full  sympathy  with  them.  He  also  knows  Latin  thoroughly, 
thinks  in  it,  and  writes  it  with  great  elegance.  He  has  also  thought  with 
original  power  on  the  philosophy  of  language,  is  always  in  search  of  explana- 
tions, and  is  eager  to  bring  everything  out  of  the  realms  of  unreason.  .  .  . 
At  the  same  time,  great  moderation  is  shown  by  him  in  hazarding  explana- 
tions or  dismissing  irrational  rules." 


SCHOOL  DEEAMS  AT  DUNEDIN 

(From  Day  Dreams  of  a  Schoolmaster) 
I.    NURSERY  REFORM 

I  am  very  fond  of  dogs.  They  are  religious  beasties,  but 
idolators,  for  they  worship  us.  The  old  Egyptians  worshiped 
them.  The  dogs  have  the  better  of  it  in  the  comparison.  On 
week  days  a  dog  may  suggest  morality  and  religious  faith, 
but  he  has  a  painfully  profane  look  on  Sunday.  Poor,  heathen 
brute !  He  should  run  into  hiding  places  on  Saturday  at 
midnight,  as  a  ghost  vanishes  at  cock  crowing. 

I  am  equally  fond  of  cats.  But  they  are  utterly  devoid  of 
religion  —  sleek  epicures,  that  live  only  in  the  present.  They 
may  coil  cosily  into  roly-poly  cushions,  wash  daintily  behind 
their  ears,  and  drone  their  drowsy  little  humdrum  fireside 
hymns ;  but  with  the  best  of  them  there  is  a  faint,  lingering 
odor  of  Beel'zebub. 

I  should  not  wonder  if,  on  the  other  side  of  Styx,  some 
faithful  friend  were  to  welcome  me  with  the  wagging  of  a 
shadowy  tail,  and  the  utterance  of  a  thin  and  ineffectual  bow- 
wow. But  the  boat  of  Cha'ron  will  push  a  difficult  furrow 
through  innumerable  bodies,  brickbat-laden,  of  purrless,  soul- 
less, dead-as-door-nail  cats.  Poor  pussies  I 

But  though  I  love  these  hairy  favorites  much,  I  love  little 


SCHOOL  DEE  AM S  AT  DUN  EDI  N  495 

children  more.  And  I  care  not  whether  they  be  blonde  or 
brown,  clean  or  dirty,  Lordlings  or  chimney  sweepkins.  Not  a 
button !  I  would  rather  they  were  not  too  good,  or  "goody." 
Let  us  have  a  little  naughtiness,  sprinkled  in  at  intervals  ;  it 
gives  a  flavor  to  the  insipidity  of  vegetable  innocence. 

A  pharisee  is  not  a  pleasant  object,  be  he  clad  in  swallow- 
tails or  cotton  frock.  And  there  is  a  social  pharisee,  as  well 
as  a  religious  one.  Clean  face  and  glossy  curls  must  never 
frown  upon  little  smutty,  streetling  publican.  No,  no  ;  it  is 
quite  possible  that  this  little  sparrow  boy  but  rarely  washes 
his  face,  more  rarely  says  his  prayers,  and  never  blows  his 
nose ;  which  practices  are  common  with  genteel  canary  children. 
But  not  a  sparrow  falleth  to  the  ground  without  our  Father's 
notice.  Let  us  all  have  a  share  of  natural  commonness,  of 
wholesome  naughtiness,  of  clean  dirt.  Let  us  stand  occa- 
sionally in  the  corner  of  repentance,  "  outside  of  all  joy,  like 
Neptune  in  the  cold."  Then  will  we  promise  to  be  good;  we 
will  throw  tiny  arms  half  round  Papa's  neck,  will  kiss  him  half 
way  through  his  yellow  beard;  we'll  be  happy  forever  and 
ever  and  ever,  and  live  on  taffy  and  almond  rock.  O,  the  bliss 
of  making  up  !  The  rain  after  drought !  The  sunshine  after 
rain !  Yea,  'tis  a  sweet  thing  and  a  pleasant  to  have  been  a 
little  naughty. 

Eliminate  misdoing  from  the  world,  and  you  annihilate 
charity.  The  air  is  uninhabitable  from  a  surplus  of  oxygen. 
The  good  deed  shines  no  longer,  that  glistened  like  a  glowworm 
in  a  naughty  world.  Imagine,  reader,  the  humiliating  condi- 
tion of  a  good  parson  who  has  overdone  his  duty.  The  vestry- 
men are  better  than  he ;  the  clerk  is  better  than  the  vestrymen ; 
the  pew  opener  is  suspected  of  being  better  than  them  all. 
Why,  the  church  is  top-heavy.  Another  effort,  and  it  will 
stand  upon  its  spire.  Come  back  to  the  old  ways,  my  friend. 
There  must  be  degrees  —  there  must  be  degrees. 

But  while  I  can  regard  with  complacency  a  little  naughtiness 
in  children,  I  am  grieved  to  the  heart  to  see  their  eyes  dimmed 
ever  so  little,  and  their  cheeks  ever  so  slightly  pale.  O  me,  for 


496  D'ARCY   WENTWORTH  THOMPSON 

the  faces  that  one  sees  at  times,  so  wee  and  wan  and  old  ;  for 
the  little  tiny  Elders,  who  begin  life  at  the  wrong  end  ! 

I  regret,  also,  that  children  are  under  the  absurd  necessity  of 
growing  bigger ;  of  developing  from  baby  buds  into  boy  tulips 
and  men  cabbages.  They  keep  pet  spaniels  permanently  small, 
but  by  means  that  imperil  their  little  lives.  I  wonder  if  an 
elixir  could  be  suggested  that  would  keep  a  child  always  a  child. 
Nay !  I  know  there  is  such  an  elixir ;  and  I  know  also  from 
what  fountain  it  may  be  drawn,  and  has  been  drawn.  It  is 
bitter  if  you  sip  of  it,  but  sweet,  they  say,  if  you  take  a  full 
quaff.  But  he  that  drinks  thereof  cares  not  afterwards  for 
earthly  meat  or  drink,  but  passes  away  and  leaves  us,  with 
a  look  of  strange  joy  upon  his  countenance.  And  we  follow 
him  a  little  way  sorrowing.  And  I  think  he  must  wonder  at 
our  sorrow,  and  from  under  his  green  counterpane  must  hear, 
as  from  the  depths  of  a  sweet  dream,  our  cry  of  Vale  !  Vale ! 
In  ceternum  vale  !  1 

Did  you  ever  sit,  reader,  with  your  babe  upon  your  knee,t 
and  its  dear,  good  grandmother  before  you?  Stretch  out  both 
hands,  and  you  will  touch  very  nearly  at  the  zero  and  the 
infinity  of  life;  the  mystery  of  the  forgotten  past,  and  the 
mystery  of  an  unknown  future. 

But  to  return  to  our  dogs.  I  am  glad  that  our  homeless 
ones  have  found,  of  late,  a  genial  and  kindly  advocate.  But  I 
could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  deprive  them  of  their  patron,  for 
to  me  they  seem  to  be  appropriating  the  children's  bread;  and 
I  would  employ  his  humor  and  his  pathos  to  plead  the  more 
melancholy  cause  of  our  own  poor,  grammarless  little  ones.  I 
would  use  all  my  eloquence  to  depict  the  miserable  condition 
of  these  sweet  victims  of  parental  indifference.  I  would  point 
to  them  as  they  stood,  blue  and  shivering,  without  a  rag  of 
syntax  round  their  little  loins,  and  show  them  dwining  away 
before  our  eyes  beneath  the  pitiless  influences  of  grammatical 
destitution. 

1  Farewell,  farewell  forever,  . 


SCHOOL  DREAMS  AT  DUNEDIN  497 

And  moved  by  the  eloquence  of  my  pleading,  and  impressed 
with  a  conviction  of  its  truth,  some  aged  hosier  in  his  latter 
days,  ignoring  the  paltry  claims  of  kindred,  would  leave  a  colos- 
sal fortune  for  the  realization  of  my  philanthropic  schemes. 
And  I  should  found  a  magnificent  institution  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  our  Dunedin,  and  should  call  it  the  Caiete'um,1  or 
the  Normal  Institution  for  the  Training  of  Nursery  Maidens. 
And  the  building  should  be  a  palatial  one,  with  green  lawns 
and  shrubberies  and  massive  gateways ;  and  there  should  be 
lodges  at  the  gates,  wherein  should  dwell  porters,  whose  busi- 
ness it  were  at  distant  intervals  to  open  and  to  shut  those  gates. 
And  I  would  appoint  a  Board  of  twenty  Guardians,  who  should 
on  stated  occasions  dine  sumptuously  out  of  its  funds  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Caieteiim.  And  I  would  select  a  governor  of 
grave  and  dignified  demeanor,  and  a  numerous  staff  of  masters 
well  skilled  in  the  turning  of  the  gerund  stone.2  And  from  the 
Board  of  Guardians  should  be  selected  a  subcommittee  of  three 
members,  who  should  be  named  the  Special  Aggravators,  and 
theip  business  it  should  be  to  worry  the  governor  of  grave 
demeanor,  and  to  set  the  governor  a-worrying  the  turners  of 
the  gerund  stone.  And  the  palace  and  the  Board  and  the  staff 
should  be  for  the  housing  and  the  superintending  and  the 
instructing  of  ten  little  nursery  maidens,  who  should  be  chosen 
exclusively  from  such  families  of  the  name  of  Thompson  as 
should  spell  it  with  a  p.  And  for  a  term  of  years  these  little 
maidens  should  apply  their  noses  to  the  outer  edge  of  the 
rapidly  turning  gerund  stone.  And  when  their  brains  were 
cleared  of  the  weeds  of  nature  and  mother  wit  and  unassisted 
sense,  I  should  send  them  forth  as  missionaries  into  the  outer 
world,  for  the  reformation  of  our  nurseries. 

And  wherever  these  little  missionaries  came,  they  would 
sweep  away,  as  with  a  besom,  all  idle  games  and  silly  puzzles 
and  unedifying  tales.  And  Jack  would  flee  in  terror  to  the 

1  A  place  for  sacrifices. 

2  "Turning  the  ger'und  stone,"  is  a  cant  expression,  descriptive  of  machine 
work  in  language  study. 

8CH.   IN  COM.  —  32 


498  D'ARCY   WENTWORTH  THOMPSON 

summit  of  his  own  beanstalk  ;  Cock  Robin  would  be  borne 
unpitied  to  his  grave  ;  and  Mother  Hubbard,  led  by  her  own 
dog,  would  beg  her  bread,  an  exile  in  far  distant  lands.  And 
our  children  should  be  instructed  upon  those  scientific  and 
theoretic  principles  which,  in  other  and  higher  departments  of 
education,  have  stood  the  test  of  ages.  And  these  missionary 
maidens  should  be  furnished,  each  with  her  gerund  stone ;  and 
resolute  parents  should  apply  the  noses  of  their  prattlers  to  the 
outer  edge  thereof,  as  it  turned  rapidly.  But,  forasmuch  as  the 
process  might  for  a  while  prove  disagreeable  to  the  instructed, 
the  maidens  should  be  further  equipped  with  an  implement  of 
hardened  leather,1  highly  charged  with  a  subtle  electricity,  whose 
dexterous  application  to  the  palm  should  have  the  property  of 
endearing  to  the  little  ones  these  maidens  and  their  gerund 
stones. 

Follow  me,  gentle  reader,  into  a  model  nursery,  and  behold 
our  system  in  full  operation.  Those  little  children  yonder, 
blue-eyed  and  flaxen-haired,  fresh  from  the  Eden  where  inno- 
cents still  wander,  are  standing  for  the  first  time  before,  the 
mysterious  engine  of  their  mental  training.  From  dawn  to 
eve,  this  summer's  day,  they  are  committing  to  memory  all 
words  that  end  in  ock,  as  cock,  knock,  block,  rock,  stock,  smock, 
flock,  beginning  with  a  cock  that  must  not  crow  —  for  the  fowl 
is  as  yet  unprovided  with  verb  and  conjugation  and  voice  (most 
essential  this  for  crowing)  and  mood  and  tense  and  number 
and  person,  —  and  ending  with  a  flock  that  must  neither  frolic 
nor  bleat.  To-morrow  they  will  give  undivided  attention 
to  words  that  end  in  dom,  as  kingdom,  beadledom ;  the  day 
following,  to  words  in  ition,  as  deglutition,  perdition;  then  to 
words  in  ation,  as  trituration,  botheration;  and  so  on  for  a  month 
or  two,  till  the  category  of  ordinary  words  is  exhausted.  Then 
are  they  to  be  put  to  wholesome  tribulation  upon  words  that 
lack  a  singular,  as  tongs,  scissors,  spectacles,  stockings,  trousers, 


1  The  tawse,  a  leather  strap,  used  as  an  instrument  of  punishment  in  Scot- 
tish schools. 


SCHOOL   DREAMS  AT  DUNEDIN  499 

breeches  ;  then  on  nouns  that  lack  a  plural,  as  butter,  beef,  mutton, 
glue,  alicompayne  ; 1  then  on  nouns  that  lack  a  possessive  case, 
as  gruel,  wash-hand-stand,  microcosm;  then  on  nouns  that  lack 
a  vocative,  as  ninepins,  oatmeal,  cosmogony,  philoprogenitiveness. 
And  if,  meanwhile,  they  yawn  over  the  work,  or  ask  idle  ques- 
tions of  curiosity,  they  will  be  subjected  to  the  influence  of  the 
electric  leather. 

When  sufficiently  bewildered,  it  may  be  irritated,  with  months 
of  substantives,  they  shall  pass  through  similar  ordeals  of  un- 
diluted adjectives,  participles,  verbs,  adverbs,  numerals,  prepo- 
sitions, and  conjunctions.  Then  shall  they  be  put  through  a 
course  of  syntax,  which  shall  daily  be  administered  to  them 
in  infinitesimal  doses,  according  to  the  received  principles  of 
grammatical  homeopathy. 

Then  shall  be  put  into  their  tiny  hands  the  interesting  and 
exhausting  biographies  of  the  great  Busbe'quius  Bung'fungus, 
and  by  homeopathic  treatment  each  biography  shall  be  made 
to  occupy  many  weeks  ;  so  that  the  children,  in  reading  the 
death  of  Palseol'ogus  and  Mithrobarza'nes,  and  other  favorite 
heroes,  may  have  forgotten  all  the  circumstances  of  their  lives. 
And  if  they  read  a  fable,  they  shall  read  it  in  minute  portions,  • 
so  that,  on  arriving  at  the  tail  or  moral,  they  may  be  unable  to 
apply  it  to  the  body.  And  in  their  daily  readings  they  shall 
continually  sing  their  verbal  and  syntactic  formula?,  which  shall 
sound  like  mystic  hymns  in- the  ears  of  their  delighted  parents. 

It  is  true  that  the  children,  by  this  method,  will  be  power- 
less to  express  their  passing  thoughts,  or  to  describe  occur- 
rences that  take  place  before  their  eyes  ;  but  they  will  be 
imbued  with  theories  of  speech,  too  sacred  to  be  employed  in 
the  profanities  of  idle  talk ;  and  for  this  their  parents  will  feel 
duly  grateful  to  the  leather  of  electricity  and  the  rapidly 
turning  gerund  stone. 

But  ah,  reader,  all  human  devices  are  marred  with  imper- 

1  El-e-cam-pane'  in  the  United  States,  —  an  herb  formerly  used  as  a  stomachic. 
The  name  is  a  favorite  "catch  word"  with  some  teachers  and  school  examiners. 


500  D'ARCY   WENTWORTK   THOMPSON 

fection.  My  own  system,  perfect  as  it  may  seem,  is  lopsided, 
as  it  affects  but  the  mental  part  of  our  nature.  It  is  true,  the 
lilies  of  the  field  toil  not  as  they  grow.  The  lambkin  on  the 
hillside  thrives  pleasurably  into  sheephood;  I  wish  I  could 
add,  passes  painlessly  into  mutton.  The  beaver  learns  his 
pontifical  trade,  unstimulated  by  flaps  of  the  parental  tail. 
To  the  brain  of  man  is  decreed  the  proud  prerogative  of 
uncomfortable  growth.  No ;  not  decreed.  In  this  matter, 
I  imagine,  the  sagacity  of  man  has  improved  upon  the  wis- 
dom of  Omniscience. 

The  mental  training  of  my  own  boyhood  was  a  continuous 
sensation  of  obstruction  and  pain.  By  the  aid  of  catechisms, 
Crossmans,  and  burdensome  observances,  I  was  grooved  labori- 
ously into  a  secure  and  permanent  orthodoxy.  My  mental  and 
spiritual  parts  were  furrowed ;  but  alas,  my  physical  part  re- 
mained fallow  !  My  growth  in  stature  was  left  carelessly  to 
my  Maker,  and  proceeded  without  a  hint  of  artificial  tribula- 
tion. This  flaw  in  our  educational  system  it  is  my  ambition 
to  remove.  I  have  invented  a  mechanical  adjustment  of  power- 
ful magnetic  needles,  whose  permanent  application  to  the  frame 
will  render  child,  boy,  or  youth  continuously  sensible  of  phys- 
ical growth.  The  feeling  will  be  as  though  five  minutes  of 
acute  toothache  were  diffused  over  a  space  of  months.  A 
youth  will  literally  develop  into  manhood  through  pins  and 
needles.  We  shall  then  have  realized  the  perfect  organism  of 
the  Roman  poet's  fancy,  the  — 

Mens  TORTA  in  corpore  TORTO.1 

II.    THE  CREW  OF  ULYSSES 

Yes,  reader,  I  am  Hellenist.  I  am  at  the  end  of  my 
third  volume,  and  am  going  to  live  happy  ever  afterwards. 
I  have  reached  Ithaca.  A  little  tired  and  battered.  But  I 


1  A  warped  mind  in  a  warped  body  —  changed  from  "  Mens  sana  in  corpore 
sano"  (the  Roman  poet's  real  words,  meaning  a  sound  mind  in  a  sound  body}. 


SCHOOL  DREAMS  AT  DUNEDIN  501 

have  reached  Ithaca.  I  will  now  take  mine  ease  by  my  own 
hearth,  and  spin  long  yarns  about  Scyl'la  and  Charyb'dis.  But 
where  are  my  old  comrades  ?  Poor  fellows !  They  are  all 
drowned.  They  are  lying  at  the  bottom  of  that  ^Ege'an,  which 
in  life  was  the  scene  of  all  their  suffering,  and  the  reservoir  of 
all  their  geography. 

The  fact  is,  it  was  only  in  exceptional  cases  that  boys 
with  us  remained  at  school  after  the  age  of  fifteen.  Conse- 
quently, my  old  friends  were  all  away.  They  had  gone  for  the 
most  part  into  commercial  life.  Fortunately,  one  half  of  their 
schooling  had  been  devoted  to  the  despised  branches  of  penman- 
ship, ciphering,  reading,  and  writing  from  dictation.  These 
subjects  had  been  very  well  taught.  Indeed,  had  they  been 
taught  ever  so  indifferently,  the  pupils  could  scarcely  have 
failed  to  pick  up  something  in  such  elementary  branches  dur- 
ing a  curriculum  of  at  least  seven  years.  Consequently,  in 
the  various  countinghouses  into  which  they  were  drafted,  our 
boys  were  usually  found  good  penmen,  ready  reckoners,  and 
tolerably  correct  in  their  spelling.  But  of  one  entire  half  of 
their  long  school  probation,  the  majority  carried  away  no 
intellectual  memento.  Upon  that  half  had  been  brought  to 
bear  the  most  expensive  part  of  the  educational  machinery; 
masters  of  arts,  instead  of  ushers ;  clergymen,  instead  of  lay- 
men ;  dictionaries  and  lexicons,  instead  of  copy  books  and  slates. 
There  had  been  no  lack  of  sowing,  but  there  had  been  no 
reaping,  no  gathering  into  barns,  although  Heaven  knows  the 
ground  had  been  well  harrowed  and  the  seed  had  been  watered 
plentifully,  and  with  tears. 

I  must  state,  in  passing,  that  there  was  a  naval  school  into 
which  boys  might  enter,  at  their  own  option,  about  the  age  of 
twelve.  Many  that  had  no  special  calling  for  a  sailor's  life 
entered  it  with  the  mere  view  of  escaping  a  life  of  Latin  and 
Greek  drudgery  on  dry  land.  This  part  of  the  school  had 
been  added  to  the  original  foundation  by  Charles  II.  Every 
year  a  little  deputation  presents  at  Court  its  charts  and  draw- 
ings, in  accordance  with  the  expressed  wish  of  the  royal 


502  D'ARCT  WENTWOETH  THOMPSON 

founder.  I  believe  in  no  portion  of  the  kingdom  is  a  course 
of  naval  instruction  given  so  perfect  in  both  practice  and 
theory. 

My  contemporaries  of  the  ordinary  under  form l  who  survive 
will  be  now  in  the  prime  of  manhood.  Do  they  ever  look 
calmly  back  upon  the  miraculous  fog  that  overhung  one  half 
of  their  seven  years'  schooling  ?  Have  they  ever  expiscated 2 
one  intelligible  reason  why  they  were  so  long  detained  in  the 
barren  wilderness  ?  What  good  have  they  ever  reaped  them- 
selves from  the  trial,  or  what  gratification  can  it  have  afforded 
to  others  ?  Or  seems  that  period  to  them  an  embryo  state,  a 
dream  within  a  dream  ?  Some  of  them  will  now  be  Benedicks  ; 3 
some  will  have  boys  growing  into  their  teens.  Our  species, 
like  the  sheep,  is  prone  to  follow  a  lead.  I  would  venture  to 
affirm  that  these  fathers  will,  in  most  instances,  be  putting  their 
boys  through  some  similarly  mysterious  educational  process. 

The  fact  is,  men  usually  look  back  upon  their  school  days 
as  a  pedestrian  upon  traversed,  far-off,  blue  hills.  He  for- 
gets the  long,  desolate  moorlands,  the  tortuous  pathways,  the 
morasses  here  and  the  shingles  there,  the  peak  on  peak  that 
never  was  the  highest.  They  forgive,  over  the  walnuts  and 
the  wine,  the  pedagogue  that  thrashed  them  to  no  moral  or 
mental  profit,  the  bully  that  appropriated  their  weekly  six- 
pence, the  old  housekeeper  that  worried  them  with  nig-nagging 
for  their  torn  linen,  or  for  faces  dirtier  than  their  dirty  shoes. 
School  was  not  such  a  bad  place,  after  all.  Another  glass  or 
two  of  the  old,  tawny  particular ;  and,  faith  !  we  were  never 
so  happy  as  in  our  boyhood,  and  may  never  be  as  happy  again. 
Besides,  boys  are  terribly  in  the  way  at  home,  and  school  is  the 
real  place  for  them,  after  all ;  and  —  depend  upon  it  —  if  there 
were  no  virtue  in  birching,  caning,  Latin  verses  and  Greek 
what-ye-may-call-'ems,  they  would  not  have  held  their  ground 
so  long  amongst  a  practical  people  like  ourselves.  So  Johnny  is 
sent  to  the  town  grammar  school,  and  returns  in  due  time  with 

1  Lower  class,  in  school.         2  Fished  out.          3  Newly  married  men. 


SCHOOL  DREAMS  AT  DUNEDIN  503 

as  much  honey  of  Hymettus *  on  his  legs  as  his  father  before 
him.  And  meanwhile,  the  great,  time-honored  gerund  stone 
turns,  and  will  turn  to  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time. 

In  the  majority  of  great  English  public  schools,  the  primary 
subjects  of  writing,  ciphering,  reading,  and  spelling,  are  noto- 
riously ill  taught.  The  chief  modern  languages,  French  and 
German,  languish  in  the  cold  shade  of  their  classic  rivals. 
And  yet,  elementarily,  they  are  taught  on  a  more  rational  plan 
than  the  classics.  That  is  to  say,  the  rules  of  nature  or  com- 
mon sense  are  not  wholly  ignored ;  and  the  conversational, 
viva  voce  principle  is  to  some  extent  kept  in  view.  But  success 
in  these  departments  carries  with  it  no  acknowledged  prestige, 
paves  the  way  to  no  brilliant  university  distinction.  Too  fre- 
quently, also,  a  master  of  French  is  a  master  of  French  only, 
with  no  more  claims  to  learning  than  a  chef  de  cuisine ; 2 
and  too  often  a  master  of  German  will  mar  the  effect  of  his 
erudition  by  a  philosophic  but  frowsy  disregard  of  toilet  pro- 
prieties. And  alas,  a  foreigner,  however  learned  and  well- 
mannered,  too  often  fails  in  the  maintenance  of  discipline,  from 
the  fact  that  the  idea  of  order  is,  to  his  pupils,  inseparably  con- 
nected with  a  vigorous  use  of  implements  which  are  barbarous 
in  his  eyes  and  ridiculous  in  his  hands. 

However,  be  the  condition  of  other  branches  what  you  please, 
the  melancholy  fact  stands,  that  the  classics  are  taught  in  such 
a  way  as  to  benefit  only  those  who,  by  superior  talents  or 
inordinately  long  continuance  at  school,  eventually  emerge 
from  the  darkness  overhanging  their  elementary  training.  I 
could  enumerate  three  historical  and  well-endowed  metropoli- 
tan schools  to  which,  in  my  day,  even  this  latter  exceptional 
statement  was  not  due. 

In  the  Under  School  at  St.  Edward's,  we  certainly  under- 
stood the  husbandry  of  making  a  very  little  Greek  go  a  very 
long  way.  We  sank  our  teaching  plummet  many  fathoms  deep 


1  A  mountain  in  Greece,  celebrated  in  antiquity  for  its  wild  honey. 

2  Head  cook. 


504  &ARCY   WENTWORTH  THOMPSON 

into  the  abyss  of  unintelligibility.  But  the  historical  trio  had 
tumbled  through  the  antipodes  to  the  nadir,  where  they  were 
sticking  like  rayless  stars.  There  were  honey  prizes,  in  the 
way  of  exhibitions  and  scholarships,  attached  to  these  drone- 
hives  ;  they  must  have  been  assigned  to  such  drones  as  were 
found  preeminent  in  weight  or  size  or  capacity  of  repose. 

At  the  best  of  the  great  Public  Schools,  the  youngest  chil- 
dren—  bless  the  innocents! — are  suckled  upon  grammar;  the 
more  advanced  are  too  often  fed  upon  dull  books,  made  duller 
by  superfluous  annotations;  the  manuals  for  prose  composition 
are  in  many  cases  tramways  to  pedantry,  exhibiting  for  imita- 
tion the  unintentional  faults  of  Thucyd'ides  and  the  intentional 
faults  of  Tac'itus;  the  manuals  for  Latin  versification  would 
seem  to  have  been  originally  intended  to  implant  in  boys  a 
quick  perception  of  the  ludicrous.  A  vile  system  of  literal 
translation  of  Greek  and  Latin  idioms  so  corrupts  the  well  of 
English  undefined  that  a  boy  often  loses  as  much  English  in 
his  Latin  room  as  he  will  pick  up  for  the  day  in  his  English 
room.  No  one,  after  once  the  sentences  have  been  analyzed, 
would  ever  dream  of  translating  literally  Comment  vous  portez 
vous?  or  Qu'est-ce  que  Jest  que  fa?  but  pedantry  will  insist 
upon  boys  rendering,  year  after  year,  Greek  particles  by  the 
most  un-English  equivalents,  and  Latin  redundancies  by  Eng- 
lish wind.  The  whole  system,  and  the  elementary  part  most 
of  all,  is  bookish,  unpractical.  It  is  many  years  —  nay,  very 
often  it  does  not  happen  at  all,  —  it  is  many  years,  at  all  events, 
before  a  lad  suspects  that  Latin  and  Greek  are  instruments  of 
thought  precisely  similar  to  his  own  everyday  language.  In 
the  earlier  years  of  his  apprenticehood,  he  would  almost  scout 
the  idea  as  profane,  that  men  could  under  any  circumstances 
exchange  chitchat,  write  love  letters,  deliver  after-dinner 
speeches,  tell  Joe  Millers,1  make  bad  puns  in  such  solemn 
and  stiff  -jointed  forms  of  speech.  Indeed,  they  never  strike  him 

1  Stale  jests  —  so  called  from  Joseph  Miller,  an  English  comic  actor,  whose 
name  is  given  to  a  jest  book. 


SCHOOL  DREAMS  AT  DUNEDIN  505 

as  forms  of  speech  at  all.  He  may  entertain  a  hazy  idea  that 
Latin  was  employed  by  a  Roman  tradesman  for  composing  an 
elegiac  valentine,  or  an  advertisement  in  Alcaics. 

Its  grammatical  nomenclature  is  worded  differently  from 
that  of  any  modern  tongue ;  and  that  for  Greek  is  worded 
more  cabalistically  still.  He  meets  with  no  a'orists  in  Eng- 
lish ;  no  su'pines  in  French  ;  no  ger'unds  in  German  ;  no  paulo- 
post-futures  anywhere  in  the  habitable  world.  And  yet  I  will 
venture  to  say  that  there  are  very  few  idioms  of  either  Greek 
or  Latin  that  have  not  their  analogues  in  homely  Saxon  and 
pure  French.  Indeed,  I  am  almost  inclined  to  think  that  the 
use  of  av  in  Greek  is  the  only  idiom  to  which  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult or  impossible  to  adduce  a  parallel.  Why  on  earth,  then, 
are  the  former  pair  swathed  in  a  verbiage  so  peculiar? 

I  can  understand  the  use  of  a  peculiar  nomenclature  in  days 
when  the  theory  of  language  was  imperfectly  understood ;  and 
I  freely  acknowledge  the  debt  of  gratitude  due  to  the  old  gram- 
marians for  raising  the  structure  before  us,  with  the  scanty 
materials  at  their  disposal.  Latin  was  then  considered  as  radi- 
cally different  from  Greek  as  Greek  from  Coptic.  Ay,  and 
might  be  considered  so  now,  for  all  the  teaching  in  our  schools. 
The  magnificent,  cloud-dispelling  discoveries  of  Bopp  and  the 
Grimms,  so  full  of  interest  if  gradually  and  clearly  expounded, 
to  young  and  old  alike,  are,  in  most  class  rooms,  practically 
ignored. 

We  still  separate  by  arbitrary  boundaries  studies  that  we 
know,  or  should  know,  to  be  cognate.  If  Latin,  Greek,  and 
Teutonic  are  really  sisters,  and  French  a  daughter  of  one  of 
them,  why  should  it  be  thought  impossible  to  teach  them  all 
upon  some  catholic  plan  ?  At  the  very  least,  the  grammati- 
cal terms  employed  in  one  schoolroom  might  be  employed  in 
another.  Take,  for  instance,  such  a  simple  sentence  as,  I  should 
like  to  know.  If  a  boy  were  called  upon  to  parse  such  a  sen- 
tence in  three  consecutive  class  rooms,  he  would  find  a  Condi- 
tional mood  in  the  French  room,  a  Subjunctive  one  in  the 
Latin,  and  an  Optative  one  in  the  Greek.  A  very  Proteus 


506  WAECY   WENTWOBTH   THOMPSON 

of  a  mood  —  now  a  bear,  now  crackling  fire,  now  running 
water,  that  slips  through  one's  fingers. 

I  am  convinced  in  my  own  mind  that  it  were  practicable  to 
teach  English,  French,  German,  Latin,  and  Greek  on  a  broad 
and  catholic  system.  The  first  step  would  be  for  the  patrons 
of  our  great  schools  to  require  of  every  candidate  for  a  classical 
mastership  satisfactory  proofs  of  a  thorough  knowledge  of 
French  or  German,  or  even  of  both  languages,  in  grammar 
and  accent.  If  a  good  classical  scholar  were  found  deficient  in 
the  latter  particular,  he  might  be  advised  to  travel  abroad,  to 
cure  his  ear  and  his  tongue  of  their  insular  vulgarity. 

In  a  few  years,  a  scholar  would  as  soon  think  of  speaking 
French  with  a  bad  accent  as  of  eating  peas  with  a  knife.  A 
class  might  pass  from  language  to  language,  retaining  its  shape 
and  the  position  of  its  members,  upon  the  principle  that  it  was 
merely  passing  from  one  to  another  phase  of  one  great  and  com- 
prehensive subject.  Thus  the  places  in  a  class  of  English,  French, 
or  German  would  be  thrown  in  with  those  of  Latin  and  Greek  at 
the  end  of  a  session,  to  determine  the  prizes  for  proficiency  in 
the  broad  and  catholic  study  of  the  dialects  of  one  common  lan- 
guage. The  classics  would  benefit  by  the  amalgamation,  as  they 
would  have  to  be  treated  less  mysteriously,  and  illustrated 
more  interestingly ;  and  to  modern  languages  would  be  given 
a  prestige,  in  the  eyes  of  the  pupils,  which  they  have  hitherto 
most  unquestionably  and  most  undeservedly  lacked. 

To  some  the  amalgamation  proposed  may  seem  one  of  incon- 
gruities. It  is  not  so.  It  is  much  more  incongruous  to  mix 
the  study  of  modern  history  with  the  study  of  Latin  and 
Greek  than  to  associate  the  study  of  one  language  with  that 
of  another  cognate  language,  in  the  determination  of  class 
places.  A  boy  may  have  a  special  turn  for  history  and  the 
acquisition  of  general  information,  who  is  comparatively  slow 
at  linguistic  studies.  But  a  good  scholar  in  Latin  and  Greek 
will  be  a  good  scholar  in  French  and  German  —  if  he  choose. 
I  have  known  lamentable  instances  of  good  classical  scholars 
neglecting  purposely,  and  for  sordid  reasons  connected  with 


SCHOOL   DREAMS  AT  DUNED1N  507 

school  prizes,  the  study  of  modern  languages  ;  but  I  could  also 
point  to  separate  class  lists  where  the  same  names,  almost  in 
the  same  order,  stood  as  prizemen  in  four  languages,  ancient 
and  modern ;  and  this  would  be  found  generally  the  case,  if 
some  such  system  as  the  one  suggested  were  adopted. 

With  such  a  system  in  operation,  the  pedantic  phraseology 
of  our  classic  manuals  would  have  to  be  modified,  of  course  ; 
the  examples  to  the  majority  of  rules  to  be  pitched  in  a  lower 
and  more  natural  key.  We  have,  at  present,  a  genteel  and 
superstitious  dread,  not  only  of  solecisms,  but  of  commonness  in 
expression  ;  forgetting,  most  unphilosophically,  that  the  vulgar 
tongue  is  in  all  cases  the  real  tongue ;  that  where  we  can  hear 
a  language  in  its  pure,  unadulterated  vulgarity,  —  and  any  one 
but  a  bagman1  knows  the  term  is  not  necessarily  synonymous 
with  coarseness  or  slang,  —  there  have  we  in  Italy  a  corrector 
language  than  the  polished  diction  of  Ovid;  and  in  England 
more  homespun  stuff  than  can  be  drawn  from  Pope  and  Gray. 

In  our  servile  admiration  of  what  is  falsely  called  purest 
Latin,  our  hankering  after  Augustan  elegancies,  we  lose  sight 
of  the  homely,  conversational  treasures  that  might  be  extracted 
copiously  from  Plau'tus,  less  copiously  from  Ter'ence,  and  to 
some  extent,  if  we  taught  Latin  as  we  ought  to  teach  it,  from 
our  own  brains. 

If,  by  the  adoption  of  a  vivd  voce 2  conversational  method  in 
elementary  classes,  a  pupil  once  got  a  natural,  unconscious  grip 
of  Latin,  style  and  polish  would  follow  easily  enough,  as  the 
method  gradually  became  more  searching,  critical,  and  analytic. 
In  our  own  language  we  never  illustrate  early  lessons  by 
elaborately  poised  sentences  from  Robertson  or  Gibbon,  but 
with  random  speech,  familiar  instances,  common  saws.  We 
wait  patiently  until  the  pupil  gets  a  tight  hold  of  his  subject 
before  we  call  upon  him  to  wield  it  with  rhetorical  effect. 
A  round  singlestick  suffices  for  the  first  rude  lessons  in  the 
use  of  the  trenchant  broadsword. 

1  A  commercial  traveler.  2  Vocal  (by  the  living  voice). 


508 

So  in  the  illustration  of  the  rules  of  Latin  syntax,  I  would 
advocate  the  use  of  familiar  everyday  sentences,  such  as  a  boy 
might  carry  about  with  him  as  unconsciously  as  he  does  his 
jacket.  I  should  not  be  afraid  to  employ  many  a  word  that 
might  be  searched  for  in  vain  in  the  pages  of  Cicero,  or  even 
in  the  dull  pages  of  a  dictionary ;  to  let  pass  uncorrected  many 
a  phrase  that  would  send  a  shudder  through  an  Augustan 
precisian.  In  fact,  I  should  treat  Latin  and  Greek  as  though 
1  were  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  them  ;  as  though  there  were 
no  special  linguistic  secrets  wrapped  within  their  mantles  ;  as 
though  they  were  simple,  honest,  straightforward  languages, 
like  the  one  spoken  without  conscious  effort  by  our  own  street 
ragamuffins. 

So  far,  however,  from  ignoring  the  value  of  style  and  finish, 
I  should  merely  be  deferring  their  inculcation  until  I  could 
inculcate  them  with  effect.  It  seems  labor  thrown  away  to 
demonstrate  that  this  is  more  elegant  than  that,  when  this  and 
that  are  both  imperfectly  understood, 

Again.  At  present,  ere  a  boy,  by  the  glimmering  light  of 
a  misty  dictionary  or  the  reflected  light  of  his  solar  tutor,  can 
grope  through  the  involutions  of  an  ordinary  paragraph,  he  is 
pushed  into  works  that  would  probably  little  interest  him, 
could  they  be  perused  as  easily  as  his  own  Robinson  Crusoe. 

Cornelius  Nepos  and  Sallust  are  two  special  bugbears.  Csesar 
is  not  wholly  blameless.  I  can  well  imagine  a  scholar-like 
soldier  or  historian  reading  the  latter  with  pleasure  and  profit. 
But  apart  from  the  difficulty  of  frequently-recurring  indirect 
speeches,  his  narrative,  with  all  its  soldierlike  simplicity  and 
directness,  is  too  extended  for  boys  who  can  only  read  it  in 
detachments.  We  ourselves  could  enjoy  no  landscape,  however 
beautiful,  that  we  saw  only  in  separate  rounds  through  a  paper 
tube.  But  who  will  stand  bail  for  those  other  notoriously 
old  offenders?  What  grown  man,  though  reeking  with  Latin, 
would  give  an  evening  hour  to  the  twaddle  of  the  one  or  the 
pedantry  of  the  other?  And  what  versatility  of  human  wit 
could  render  either  interesting  to  children  in  miserable,  daily 


SCHOOL  DREAMS  AT  DUNED1N  509 

pittances  of  eight  lines,  which  eight  lines  would  have  first  to 
be  tortured  into  villainous  English,  then  parsed,  word  by  word  ; 
the  nouns  all  declined;  the  verbs  all  conjugated  —  a  rumina- 
tive process  —  then,  after  pausing  to  take  breath,  we  should 
begin  again  at  the  end,  and  reverse  the  order  of  proceeding, 
running  backwards  through  the  verbs  and  backwards  through 
the  nouns.  And  so  on,  ad  nauseam.1 


III.    A  VISION 

I  was  engaged  one  afternoon  with  my  class  in  the  study  of 
that  portion  of  the  ^Eneid  where  the  hero  of  the  poem  and  the 
Sibyl  journey  together  by  dim,  uncertain  moonlight,  through 
the  shadowy  spaces  of  the  underworld.  And  when  the  lesson 
was  over,  I  begged  of  my  boys  to  learn  one  splendid  passage 
by  heart ;  and  leaning  back  my  chair  against  the  wall,  by  the 
monotonous  murmuring  of  their  voices  I  was  lulled  into  a 
strange  reverie. 

For,  in  the  darkness  of  the  underworld,  I  saw  three  figures 
moving  slowly ;  and  the  one  was  gentle  and  benign  of  aspect, 
and  in  him  I  recognized  the  divine  master  of  Mantua,2  "the 
honor  and  the  light  of  poetry  ' '  ;  and  the  second  was  of  a  sad 
and  stern  countenance,  who  regarded  the  master  with  the 
admiration  of  a  disciple  ;  and  the  third  was  like  the  spirit 
of  myself. 

And  we  had  reached  the  rim  of  the  seventh  circle  ;  but  from 
the  inner  circle  there  rose  a  stench  so  terrible  and  noisome  that 
I  looked  aside,  if  perchance  there  might  be  a  place  of  refuge. 
And  in  the  dark  wall  of  stone  there  was  a  wide  fissure,  like  a 
natural  doorway,  and  over  the  fissure  was  an  inscription  that  I 
read,  with  difficulty, — P^EDAGOGORTJM  DEFUNCTORUM  SEDES.S 
And  the  divine  master  went  therein ;  and  the  stern  and  sad  dis- 
ciple followed ;  and  I  went,  holding  by  the  garment  of  the  latter. 


1  To  a  disgusting  extent.  2  Vergil. 

3  The  seats  of  the  departed  pedagogues. 


510  D'ARCY   WENTWOETH  THOMPSON 

And  the  fissure  opened  into  a  great  vaulted  cavern,  the  farther 
end  of  which  was  wrapped  in  gloom  ;  and  there  were  millions  of 
gigantic  engines  shaped  like  millstones,  and  fitted  each  one 
with  a  handle  ;  and  the  handle  of  each  was  like  the  sail  arm  of  a 
ship  of  war.  And  suspended  from  these  handles  were  the  forms 
of  men  ;  and  the  millstones  were  motionless,  and  the  place  was 
empty  of  all  sound.  And  suddenly,  from  the  farther  gloom, 
came  rushing  three  Erinn'yes 1 ;  and  the  one  was  armed  with  a 
scourge,  and  the  second  with  a  yellow  reed,  and  the  other  with 
what  seemed  to  me  a  long,  thin  broom,  from  which  the  handle 
had  been  shorn.  And  rushing  to  and  fro,  they  scourged  the 
suspended  figures,  and  the  place  was  suddenly  filled  with  the 
whirring  and  the  creaking  of  a  million  stone  wheels.  And 
the  disciple  and  I  looked  inquiringly  in  the  face  of  the  master ; 
but  there  was  a  look  of  unwonted  pain  in  his  benign  counte- 
nance ;  and  while  we  gazed  wonderingly,  he  gave  a  shrill  cry, 
and  fell  to  the  ground  as  one  suddenly  bereft  of  life. 

And  when  at  length  his  spirit  revived,  we  lifted  him  gently, 
and  guided  him,  in  our  turn,  back  through  the  fissure  to  the 
rim  of  the  seventh  circle.  But  we  feared  to  ask  him  aught, 
seeing  he  had  been  sore  troubled.  But  he,  interpreting  our 
secret  thoughts,  said  in  tones  gentle  and  very  sad :  "  They 
whom  ye  saw  were  P^EDAGOGI  in  the  upper  world ;  and  their 
business  it  was  to  turn  rapidly  the  gerund  stone.  And  foras- 
much as  I  was  born  upon  the  skirts  of  Ignorance,  and  knew 
not  the  darkness  of  my  day,  therefore  am  I  doomed  to  suffer 
sorely  in  the  spirit  with  the  turning  of  their  gerund  stones. 
And  I  shall  be  PARSED  thereby  for  twice  a  thousand  years. 
And  thereupon,  the  pedant  shall  sit  upon  the  bagman,  crush- 
ing him ;  and  the  pedant  shall  choke  in  his  own  fat.  And 
after  that  my  spirit  shall  have  rest." 

At  this  moment  I  was  roused  by  the  sudden  cessation  of  the 
wonted  murmuring  ;  and  looking  up,  I  saw  the  hour  was  on 
the  stroke  of  one,  and  dismissed  my  boys  to  play. 

1  The  Furies,  personifying  conscience. 


SCHOOL  DREAMS  AT  DUNED1N  511 

IV.    THE  SCHOOLMASTER'S  LOVE  LETTER 

0  mea  cara,  pulchra  Mary, 

Qudm  vellem  tecum  concordare  ! l 

What  bliss  with  thee,  my  Noun,  to  live, 

Agreeing  like  the  Adjective  ; 

Not  —  Heaven  forbid  it !  — genere, 

Si  esset  id  possibile  ;  2 

But  being  one,  and  only  so, 

Concordaremus  numero  ;  3 

And  I'd  agree  with  thee,  my  pet, 

Casu  ;  ay,  casu  quolibet ;  4 

Likewise,  as  Relative,  I'd  fain 

A  Concord  Personal  maintain, 

Thus  borrowing  from  two  parts  of  speech 

The  partial  harmony  of  each. 

Maybe,  from  qui5  if  more  we'd  borrow, 

I'd  be  in  quod^  and  thou  in  sorrow  ; 

For,  Mary,  better  'tis  to  give, 

Than  borrow  with  your  relative. 

Three  grades  are  in  Comparison ; 

My  love  admits  of  only  one ; 

Only  Superlative  to  me 

Thy  beauty  is,  like  optime.1 

O  Mary,  Mary,  seal  nay  fate ; 

Be  candid,  ere  it  be  too  late. 

Is  thy  heart  open  to  my  suit, 

Free  as  an  Ablative  absolute  ? 

Do,  while  I'm  in  the  mood  Optative, 

Follow  me,  Darling,  in  the  dative ; 

1  O  my  dear,  beautiful  Mary, 
How  I  should  like  to  agree  with  thee. 

2  In  the  family,  if  it  should  be  possible.         4  In  case  ;  ay,  in  any  case. 
8  We  should  agree  in  number.  6  Any  one. 

6  The  quadrangle  of  a  prison  ;  a  jail. 

7  Superlative  of  bonus,  good. 


512  DMBCT   WENTWORTH  THOMPSON 

Though  I  should  be,  for  that  condition, 
Compounded  with  a  Preposition. 
Well,  sure,  of  all  the  girls  I  see, 
To  each  and  all  prcepono  te, 
Te  omnibus  prcepono,  quar£l 
Thou  art  my  preposition,  Mary. 
Ah !  Dear,  should  everything  go  well, 
And  love  should  ring  our  marriage  bell, 
Our  happiness  —  to  be  prospective  — 
Would  still,  like  ambo,  be  defective ; 
But  Plural-caret  should  we  miss, 
While  Singular  and  complete  in  bliss  ? 
No,  no ;  for  a  while,  my  Pearl,  my  Jewel, 
We'd  linger  patiently  in  the  Dual ; 
Or  ere  a  year  had  circled  round, 

In  cursu  rerum  natwrali? 
Some  morn  or  eve  we  should  be  found 

Happy  in  numero  plurali.8 
Then  one  in  heart  and  soul  and  mind, 
We'd  grow  in  love  as  years  declined. 
Moods  of  command  and  dubitation 
We'd  blot  from  out  life's  conjugation. 
Our  love,  like  all  things  sweet  and  good, 
Were  best  expressed,  when  understood  ; 
Timidly  noiseless,  purely  shy, 

Unheard  of  all,  yet  plain  to  see  — 
Like  peeping  moon  in  fleecy  sky, 

Or  h  in  hora  and  homine. 
But  life,  alas,  to  all  that  live, 
Unlike  true  love,  is  Transitive, 
To  love,  Intransitive  love,  is  given 
To  Govern  all  in  earth  and  heaven. 


1 1  prefer  thee  —  I  prefer  thee  to  all,  for  which  reason. 
2  In  the  natural  course  of  things. 
8  In  the  plural  number. 


SCHOOL  DREAMS  AT  DUNEDIN  513 

Yes,  Mary,  the  ring  that  would  bind  you  to  me 

Were  a  poor  Conjunction  that  death  might  sever  — 
A  thin  frail  et,1  and  a  life-long  que,  — 1 

But  the  link  of  our  love  would  bind  forever. 
And  so,  when  came  the  certain  finis? 

We'd  be  content,  my  own,  my  Dearie, 
Sub  uno  tumulo  duplex  cinis,8 

Two  Supines,  in  one  grave,  jacere.* 
With  folded  hands  upon  heaveless  breast, 

Side  by  side  in  our  little  earth  bed, 
Silent  as  Gerunds  in  dum 5  we'd  rest, 

While  the  thunder  of  noisy  years  rolled  overhead. 
And  we'd  sleep  a  sleep,  still,  calm,  and  sweet, 
Till  our  graves  grew  forgotten  and  Obsolete  ; 
Waiting  the  Voice  that,  as  good  men  trust, 
Shall  make  Active  of  Passive,  and  Spirit  of  dust. 

V.    FALLACIES 

"There  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun,"  said  Solomon;  and 
his  apothegm  was  as  old  as  the  truth  it  embodied.  "  Our 
learning  is  but  recollection,"  said  Plato ;  and  what  a  deal  he 
must  have  known,  ere  his  memory  was  dimmed  by  his  human- 
ity !  "  What  hath  been,  is,  and  will  be,"  said  or  thought 
Pythagoras  ;  and  the  sentiment  was  as  true  and  trite  as  that 
of  King  Solomon. 

Wise  men  of  old  have  given  us  the  potted  essence  of  sagac- 
ity in  small  canisters,  such  as  we  may  carry  about  with  us, 
without  trouble,  to  the  equator  or  either  pole.  Alas,  too 
often,  in  starting  on  our  life  journey,  we  hamper  ourselves  with 
burdensome  provisions  that  are  found  in  a  green  mold  ere  the 
journey  is  half  over. 


1  Conjunctions.  2  The  end. 

8  A  double  corse,  in  a  single  tomb.     *  To  lie, 
5  Gerunds  ending  in  the  syllable  dwn, 
SCH.  IK  COM.  —  33 


514  D'ARCY   WENTWORTH  THOMPSON 

Keeping  in  view  the  maxims  above  quoted,  and  that  of  Plato 
in  particular,  let  us  review  the  several  words  that  at  various 
times  have  been  adopted  to  define  or  specify  the  occupation  of 
a  schoolmaster. 

He  may  be  called  a  teacher.  But  the  root  of  the  verb  teach 
is  the  middle  syllable  of  the  word  indicate  ;  and  he  who  teaches 
merely  points  out  this  or  that  with  his  digits,  doigts,  or  toes ; 
and  it  is  obvious  that  the  objects  to  which  he  points  must  be 
extraneous  to  himself.  Or  he  may  be  said  to  be  employed  in 
the  business  of  instruction  or  edification.  But  these  are  simple 
building  terms  ;  and  no  bricklayer  can  make  a  wall  out  of  his 
own  head,  however  thick  that  head  may  be. 

Or  again,  in  old-fashioned  speech,  for  which  we  have  Old 
Testament  authority,  he  may  be  said  to  learn  his  pupils  this  or 
that  language  or  science.  And  herein  I  observe  how  directly 
vulgar  speech  goes  to  the  bull's  eye  of  truth.  For  the  verb 
learn  may  be  used  in  a  sort  of  reflective  sense  ;  and  a  man  who 
teaches  Latin  to  his  pupils  may  be  said  to  get  them  to  learn  or 
recollect  Latin. 

Again,  when  a  boy,  apparently  dull,  has  his  first  lesson  in 
geometry,  he  reads  that  a  point  has  no  parts  and  no  magnitude. 
Why,  this  is  a  definition  that  would  apply  to  a  thought,  a  smell, 
the  tail  of  a  guinea  pig  ;  to  pigeon's  milk,  a  mare's  egg,  or  to  noth- 
ing at  all.  I  am  convinced  that  many  a  boy,  apparently  dull, 
would  grasp  the  idea  of  a  mathematical  point,  who  could  never 
catch  the  force  of  the  above  definition.  He  could  easily  under- 
stand that  a  solid  body  occupies  space,  that  space  is  bounded 
by  surfaces,  that  surfaces  are  bounded  by  lines,  that  lines  are 
bounded  by  points.  And  thus,  from  an  intuitive  idea  of 
bulk,  he  is  led  to  a  mathematical  conception  of  surfaces,  lines, 
and  points,  without  the  aid  of  a  single  definition.  To  com- 
mence the  study  of  geometry  with  a  novice  by  the  definition 
of  a  point,  is  like  commencing  a  series  of  anatomical  lectures 
with  an  account  of  our  once  cellular  condition,  or  the  biog- 
raphy of  a  polemical  theologian  with  a  definition  of  his  Chris- 
tian charity. 


SCHOOL  DREAMS  AT  DUNEDIN  515 

Again,  to  define  a  straight  line  as  that  which  lies  evenly  between 
its  extreme  points,  is  to  give  a  definition  that  still  requires  defin- 
ing ;  for  the  word  evenly  seems  to  beg  the  whole  question  at 
issue.  I  believe  a  better  definition  of  a  straight  line  would  be 
that  it  was  a  line  not  crooked;  or  perhaps  a  better  one  still, 
that  a  straight  line  is  a  straight  line.  And  if  I  wished  a  child 
to  grasp  the  idea  of  a  point,  I  should  ask  him  to  think  of  the 
sharp  end  of  a  needle,  with  his  eyes  shut,  or  of  the  respect  paid 
to  learning  in  Dimedin,  with  Ms  eyes  open  ;  and  to  aid  him  in 
grasping  the  idea  of  a  straight  line,  I  should  ask  him  again  to 
shut  his  eyes  and  picture  to  himself  an  arrow  so  thin  that  he 
could  shoot  it  through  a  window-pane  without  breaking  it  ;  or 
I  should  ask  him  to  imagine  the  course  which  an  ecclesiastic 
would  take  if  a  bull  were  behind  him  or  a  bishopric  in  front. 

In  arguing  once  with  a  mathematician  of  eminence,  I  asserted 
that  I  would  make  clear  and  intelligible  to  any  non-mathemat- 
ical man  of  common  sense  any  symbolical  expression,  however 
complex,  provided  only  that  I  clearly  understood  it  myself. 
He  desired  me  to  make  the  experiment  with  the  expression 


I  did  so  in  his  presence,  and  was  allowed  to  have  carried  my 
point.  And  the  inference  I  wish  to  be  drawn  from  this  is, 
simply,  that  mathematical  symbols  very  often,  like  moral  apho- 
risms, are  but  brief  and  convenient  ways  of  putting  universalty- 
known  truths. 

A  pupil  often  dislikes  a  master  unreasonably  in  his  youth, 
and  eulogizes  him  as  unreasonably  in  manhood.  "  Ah  !  "  says 
he,  as  he  sips  his  wine,  "  what  little  knowledge  I  have  was  all 
got  from  old  So-and-so."  Of  course,  he  does  not  mean  any 
one  else  to  believe  what  he  does  not  believe  himself,  and  what, 
indeed,  is  not  true. 

When  the  praises  of  some  great  scholar  or  mathematician 
are  being  rehearsed,  you  may  hear  a  master  say  with  a  pardon- 
able pride:  "Ay,  So-and-so  was  my  pupil  for  many  a  year." 
And  he  believes  in  the  inference  of  his  words,  and  wishes  you 


516  D'ARCY    WENTWORTB  THOMPSON 

to  believe  in  it  too.  He  is  perfectly  honest ;  but  his  inference 
is  not  true,  for  all  that.  It  may  be  partially  true,  it  may  be 
wholly  false. 

A  very  poor  teacher  and  a  poorer  scholar  was  speaking  in 
my  presence  of  a  Cambridge  star.  "  He  read  with  me,"  said 
he,  "for "six  years  together."  And  I  thought  to  myself  :  "  Had 
he  read  with  you  for  twelve,  he  would  still  have  been  an  excel- 
lent scholar." 

I  grant  that  a  vigorous  and  energetic  tutor  may  cram  to 
almost  any  extent  a  youth  whose  health  is  robust  and  whose 
bent  of  intellect  is  very  prosaic  and  very  acquisitive.  He 
may,  with  a  tremendous  effort,  push  him  very  near  to  a  first 
class  at  Oxford ;  with  a  great  effort,  he  may  push  him  into  the 
first  class  at  Cambridge  ;  with  a  prolonged,  but  not  exhausting 
effort,  he  may  push  him  one  third  of  the  way  up  the  list  of 
wranglers ;  he  may  without  difficulty,  but  not  without  patience 
and  a  long  course  of  pdt£-de-Strasburgl  feeding,  make  of  his 
pupil  a  Mandarin  of  the  Blue  Button  in  our  Chinese  examinations 
for  India  and  the  civil  service.  So  in  the  pages  of  Theodore 
Hook  have  I  read  how  a  dog-fancier  prepared  an  often-stolen 
dog  for  diverse  markets ;  how,  by  processes  of  rubbing,  pol- 
ishing, cutting,  clipping  and  fattening,  the  chameleon  hound 
passed  through  various  metempsycho'ses,  as  spaniel,  greyhound, 
retriever,  bull  terrier,  and  mastiff. 

But  with  a  youth  of  fine  talents  and  a  love  of  knowledge 
for  its  own  sweet  sake,  a  master  can  only  fire  his  ambition  by 
his  precepts  and  his  example.  He  can  no  more  digest  his 
mental  than  his  physical  aliment. 

Does  a  master  ever  meet  with  such  a  pupil?  Very,  very 
rarely.  And  indeed,  if  a  boy  be  gifted  with  good  natural 
parts  and  inclined  to  follow  knowledge  for  herself  alone,  his 
motives  for  study  are  nearly  sure  to  be  corrupted  by  the  foolish 
but  pardonable  ambition  of  his  parents  or  his  schoolmaster. 

1  A  pasty  made  of  fat  goose  livers,  imported  from  Strasburg.  The  reference 
is  to  the  excessive  and  unnatural  feeding  of  the  geese  for  the  purpose  of  swelling 
their  livers. 


SCHOOL  DREAMS  AT  DUNELUN  517 

"  How  is  it,"  says  a  father,  "  that  my  boy  is  so  low  down  in 
his  class ?  "  "I  think,"  said  the  master  to  an  old  pupil,  " you 
need  not  read  such  and  such  a  book,  for  it's  sure  not  to  pay  in 
any  examination." 

However,  if  your  genius  is  rare,  I  verily  believe  that  your 
dunce  is  a  phcenix1  still  more  rare.  Indeed,  I  have  never 
met  with  an  undoubted  specimen  of  the  booby.  Perhaps,  a 
physically  healthy  booby  is  as  great  a  rarity  as  a  live  dodo.2 
I  have  known  many  lads  to  be  classified  under  the  category  ; 
but,  on  investigation,  I  have  always  found  that  their  training 
was  at  fault ;  that  the  gravelly  part  of  their  intelligence  was 
being  plowed,  arid  the  loamy  part  left  fallow. 

It  seems  to  me  that,  in  his  intellectual  capacity,  a  teacher  has 
to  point  out  to  his  pupils  a  writing  on  the  wall,  to  direct  their 
gaze,  and  to  throw  a  good  light  upon  the  inscription.  It  is 
possible  that  young  eyes  will  decipher  it  more  easily  and  cor- 
rectly than  he  does  himself. 

But  though  young  eyes  are  sharp,  young  judgment  is  not 
very  trustworthy.  So  a  boy  may  draw  a  wrong  inference  from 
what,  in  one  sense,  he  clearly  apprehends.  He  can  run  at  great 
speed ;  more  quickly  than  a  grown  man.  Then  keep  him  on  the 
right  road.  When  he  comes  to  where  many  ways  meet,  let  him 
find  signposts,  with  inscriptions  clear  and  short  and  legible  ; 
and  be  very  careful  that  the  signboards  point  the  right  way. 

I  have  known  instances  where  these  signboards  were  duly 
set  up,  but  the  boards  were  considerably  larger  than  those  we 
see  on  turnpikes,  and  the  inscriptions  so  long  and  indistinct 
that,  long  before  they  could  be  deciphered,  it  was  time  to  go 
to  bed. 

You  remember,  reader,  how  Diogenes,  to  be  busy  like  the  rest 
of  his  fellow-citizens,  rolled  his  tub  up  and  down  the  market- 
place. Now,  if  he  had  rolled  it  up  and  down  a  back  alley,  he 
would  have  done  no  harm  ;  and  it  was  certainly  not  his  inten- 


1  A  fabulous  bird  of  antiquity,  said  to  rise  from  its  ashes. 

2  The  dodo  is  an  extinct  bird. 


518  VAItCY  WENTWORTH  THOMPSON 

tion  to  do  any  good.  But  in  the  market-place,  you  may  depend 
upon  it,  he  was  terribly  in  the  way.  There  are  a  great  many 
respectable  men  among  ourselves,  who,  with  the  best  of  motives, 
are  unconsciously  imitating  the  ill-natured  cynic,  and  who  pass 
their  whole  lives  in  rolling  big,  empty  tubs  up  and  down  our 
most  crowded  thoroughfares.  Were  you  ever  present,  reader, 
at  a  debate  in  either  House  of  Parliament  ?  In  a  century  or 
two,  I  am  convinced,  the  policeman  will  be  making  these  tub- 
rollers  move  on. 

In  all  her  works,  nature,  who  is  the  handmaid  of  God,  is 
simple  and  direct.  We  have  no  well-authenticated  instance 
of  her  tying  knots  for  the  mere  amusement  of  unraveling  them. 
Man,  in  the  majority  of  his  works,  displays  a  love  of  intricacy 
and  obstruction,  and  more  so  in  mental  operations  than  in 
handiwork.  A  carpenter  comes  provided  only  with  tools  for 
chiseling  and  planing,  and  never  turns  aside  to  sweep  a  chimney 
or  whitewash  a  ceiling.  A  surgeon  proceeds  at  once  to  the 
amputation  of  a  wounded  limb,  and  never  thinks  of  commencing 
operations  by  making  the  wound  worse.  But  a  schoolmaster,  in 
teaching  a  language  to  a  young  pupil,  burdens  his  lessons  with 
explanations  that  are  infinitely  more  perplexing  than  their  sub 
ject.  Many  a  child  would  have  found  Latin  easy  and  interest- 
ing, had  we  not  been  at  such  pains  to  make  it  difficult  and  dull. 

Many  a  child  would  find  the  Lord's  day  a  day  of  calm  and 
happiness  ;  would  grow  up  in  the  belief  that  religion  is  a 
sweet  and  pleasant  thing  ,  that  virtue  is  not  a  hardship  ;  that 
vice  is  of  itself  detestable  ,  and  that  God  is  far  wiser  than 
even  his  own  father,  and  kinder  than  even  his  own  mother,  — 
but  for  those  ingeniously  obstructive  means  that  divines  have 
invented  for  the  purpose  of  checking  the  spontaneous  spiritu- 
ality of  children.  A  child  is  supposed  to  be  religiously  brought 
up  if  his  Sunday  hours  are  choked  with  liturgies  and  collects 
and  catechisms.  He  repeats  definitions  of  doctrines  that  are 
beyond  the  comprehension  of  humanity.  He  is  taught  to  regard 
as  sinful  actions  as  extraneous  to  morality  as  the  neighing  of 
a  horse.  His  duty  to  God  is  made  obscure  by  the  midnight  of 


SCHOOL  DREAMS  AT  DUNEDIN  519 

superfluous  words.  His  duty  to  his  neighbor,  that  intuition 
or  example  would  imperceptibly  have  taught,  is  made  odious 
by  being  communicated  in  a  long  and  difficult  formula,  which 
he  has  to  repeat  like  a  parrot.  He  prattles  innocently  of  so 
wonderful  a  doctrine  as  that  of  eternal  salvation  for  the  good  — 
and  there  is  no  harm  in  that  —  and  of  so  terrible  an  one  as  that 
of  the  eternal  condemnation  of  the  wicked.  But  he  is  not  told 
that  the  word  eternal  means  everlasting,  and  that  everlasting 
means  eternal ;.  and  that  the  meaning  of  either  word  is  as  much 
beyond  the  comprehension  of  a  Newton  as  it  is  beyond  that  of 
a  theologian  or  a  baboon. 

While  the  jumbling  of  a  child's  mental  and  spiritual  nature 
is  the  business  of  the  schoolmaster  and  divine,  the  jumbling  of 
the  interests  of  manhood,  social,  commercial,  and  political,  is 
the  prerogative  of  the  statesman.  How  many  a  petty  kingdom 
would  have  risen  long  ago  into  wealth  and  importance,  but  for 
the  obstructive  ingenuity  of  its  well-meaning  but  tub-rolling 
rulers  ! 

In  former  days  the  Faculty  of  Medicine  rolled  a  tub  terrible 
as  the  car  of  Juggernaut.  Charged  with  a  deadly  erudition, 
the  professional  healer  passed  a  knee-breeched  life,  doing  all 
manner  of  mischief  among  the  people.  To  many  an  one  a 
weeping  Martha  might  have  said :  "  Sir,  if  thou  hadst  not  been 
here,  our  brother. had  not  died."  But  of  late  years  an  ebb- 
tide of  repentance  has  happily  set  in,  and  the  Faculty  now 
sets  an  example  to  other  professions  of  a  reverence  for  nature 
and  simplicity. 

The  combined  effects  of  the  jumbling  system,  as  pursued  by 
teacher,  divine,  and  statesman,  make  of  society  an  easy  prey  to 
that  cormorant  profession  which  thrives  on  the  garbage  of 
man's  follies  and  vices.  In  whatever  country  the  lawyer  class 
is  wealthy  and  powerful,  we  may  be  sure  that  the  schoolmaster 
and  the  divine  are  there  either  wholly  idle  or  mischievously 
active.  For  the  lawyer  is,  as  you  are  well  aware,  reader,  the 
very  incarnation  of  the  But  no,  my  chapter  is  on  Fal- 
lacies, and  would  close  most  inappropriately  with  a  truism. 


ERNST  ECKSTEIN 

SOME  years  ago  a  young  German  scholar  who  was  sojourning  in  the 
Eternal  City  perpetrated  a  piece  of  humor  which  set  the  world  in  a  roar  of 
laughter.  This  was  Ernst  Eckstein,  known  at  the  present  time  as  the 
incomparable  German  writer  of  belles-lettres  —  poet,  historical  novelist,  and 
humorist  of  the  day.  The  piece,  Der  Besuch  im  Career  (The  Visit  to  the 
Cell),  was  a  character  sketch  from  a  gymnasium  experience,  which  may  not 
have  been  wholly  imaginary  —  one  of  the  numerous  Schulhumoresken  (school 
humor  sketches)  with  which  the  author  has  since  filled  a  volume. 

Thousands  upon  thousands  of  copies  of  this  sketch  were  sold  throughout 
every  part  of  Germany.  Other  nations,  seeming  to  see  in  it  the  master 
touch  of  a  great  artist,  appropriated  it  in  popular  translations  of  more  or 
less  merit.  In  Leipzig  the  ever-increasing  demand  for  this  publication,  up 
to  the  present  time,  has  exhausted  fifty-four  editions. 

Ernst  Eckstein  is  a  native  of  the  city  of  Giessen,  in  Ober-Hessen,  on  the 
northern  border  of  what  is  known  as  South  Germany,  and  is  now  in  his 
fiftieth  year.  His  earliest  work  which  attracted  attention  in  the  Fatherland 
was  Die  Schach  der  Konigin  (The  Queen's  Chess),  which  he  wrote  at  the  age 
of  twenty-five.  His  Pariser  Silhouetten  (Parisian  Silhouettes) — pictures  of 
life  at  the  French  capital  —  appeared  in  1873.  Within  recent  years  he  has 
produced  a  number  of  historical  novels  of  high  rank.  Among  these  are 
Prusias,  a  story  of  the  last  century  of  the  Roman  Republic ;  Die  Cloudier 
(The  Claudii),  a  novel  of  the  Roman  Empire  ;  Aphrodite,  the  scene  of  which 
is  laid  in  ancient  Greece ;  Pia,  a  story  of  the  thirteenth  century.  Among 
his  poems  are  Murillo,  a  lay  of  the  Guadalaquivir,  the  Venus  Urania,  a  trav- 
esty in  epic  form. 

Eckstein  excels  in  all  the  various  departments  of  literature  which  his 
versatility  has  prompted  him  to  enter.  In  genial  humor  which  is  wholly 
without  malice,  and  which  is  irresistible  in  its  force,  he  has  scarcely  an 
equal  among  the  Germans. 

There  are  few  persons  who  are  not  susceptible  to  such  innocent  humor  as 
that  of  Der  Besuch  im  Career;  yet,  singularly,  this  charming  little  story  has 
been  violently  assailed  by  certain  schoolmasters  of  Germany,  who  have 
seemed  to  find  in  it  the  inculcation  of  very  wrong  and  harmful  sentiments, 
and  a  danger  to  the  dignity  of  their  profession. 

620 


THE   VISIT  TO   THE  CELL  521 

In  such  uncongenial  and  mistaken  persons  the  sense  of  humor  must  be 
wholly  wanting,  and  true  pedagogic  insight  extremely  defective.  It  is  not 
enough  to  say  that  the  sketch  in  question  is  a  harmless  piece  of  pleasantry. 
It  illustrates  a  principle  which  every  true  teacher  should  fully  recognize  — 
that  it  is  impracticable  as  well  as  needless  to  attempt  the  repression  of  all 
youthful  exuberance  of  humor  and  playfulness.  Moreover,  it  contains  a 
lesson  on  mannerism  in  the  schoolroom,  which  most  teachers  of  the  present 
time  would  do  well  to  consider. 

Calm  in  the  judgment  of  the  world  upon  the  little  skit  which  has  carried 
his  name  to  every  land  and  has  passed  under  the  eyes  of  a  myriad  of  school- 
masters, the  author  has  paid  little  attention  to  these  adverse  criticisms.  In 
the  last  Leipzig  edition  of  the  booklet  he  has  inserted  the  following  charac- 
teristic preface : 

"  When,  in  my  quiet  and  lonely  study  in  sight  of  the  Pantheon  at  Rome, 
I  evolved  the  character  of  Samuel  Heinzerling,  I  little  dreamed  how  quickly 
that  worthy  gentleman  would  form  the  acquaintance  of  the  civilized  world. 
I  read  the  book  in  a  very  leisurely  way,  on  its  first  appearance.  It  was  a 
royal  treat ;  but  I  regarded  my  enjoyment  as  merely  subjective,  without  so 
much  as  casting  a  thought  on  the  public.  I  was  my  own  most  delighted 
and  interested  reader.  This  fact  has  relieved  me  of  the  necessity  of  answer- 
ing those  unfriendly  and  narrow-minded  individuals,  especially  certain  school- 
masters, who  regard  the  pranks  of  William  Rumpf  with  less  tolerance  than 
our  excellent  Samuel  exhibited.  I  wrote  Der  Besuch  im  Career  because  it 
amused  me,  and  with  no  premeditated  intention.  It  would  seem  that  the 
unfortunate  pedant  is  unable  to  appreciate  this ;  nor  is  he,  with  all  his  learn- 
ing, able  to  comprehend  the  free  working  of  an  exuberant  young  spirit.  Let 
the  gentlemen  continue  to  bluster  in  true  pedagogic  style.  Meanwhile,  the 
fifty-fourth  edition  is  in  as  little  danger  of  shipwreck  as  its  predecessors  have 
been." 


THE  VISIT  TO  THE  CELL 

It  had  just  struck  two.  Dr.  Samuel  Heinzerling,  Principal 
of  the  City  Gymnasium,1  strolled  with  his  own  dignity  into  the 
campus,  and  slowly  climbed  the  steps.  On  the  landing  he  met 

1  The  gymnasiums  of  Germany  are  schools  for  higher  branches  of  literature 
and  science,  in  which  pupils  are  prepared  to  enter  the  universities.  These  gym- 
nasiums are  celebrated  for  the  thoroughness  and  efficiency  for  their  preparatory 
training. 


522  ERNST  ECKSTEIN 

the  janitor,  who  had  just  rung  the  bell  and  was  going  to  his 
private  apartments,  where  an  abundance  of  household  work  lay 
waiting. 

"  Has  a-a-nything  ha-a-ppened,  Quaddler  ?  "  asked  the  Prin- 
cipal, answering  the  servile  greeting  of  the  janitor  with  a  lordly 
nod. 

"No,  Professor." 

"  Has  the  libra-a-rian  decided  yet  on  the  books  in  question?  " 

"No,  Professor." 

"  Ve-e-ry  we-e-11.  Be  shore  to  go  over,  to-day,  and  find  out 
how  the  ma-a-tter  sta-a-nds.  One  thing  more !  Freshman 
Roampf  has  been  a-a-bsent  for  some  days.  Call  at  his  room, 
and  convince  yoarself  whether  or  not  he  is  really  seek.  I 
doubt  it  somewhat  —  " 

"  Excuse  me,  Professor ;  Rumpf  is  back  again.  I  saw  him 
just  now,  coming  across  the  campus." 

"  Ve-e-ry  we-e-11 !     Ve-e-ry  we-e-11 !  " 

The  reader  will  please  excuse  the  peculiar  spelling  which 
occurs  in  the  conversations  of  Dr.  Samuel  Heinzerling.  The 
Doctor  did  not  pronounce  really  so  abnormally  as  this  spelling 
would  indicate,  but  the  individuality  of  his  vocalization  was 
striking.1  A  hundred  times  I  have  tried  to  imitate  him,  in  my 
study,  in  vain ;  so  I  may  well  be  excused  for  not  reducing  him 
to  paper. 

Once  more  the  Professor  muttered,  "  Ve-e-ry  we-e-11 !  Ve-e-ry 
we-e-11 !  "  and  slowly  walked  down  the  long  corridor  toward  the 
door  of  his  lecture  room. 

Samuel  had  appeared  uncommonly  early,  to-day.  As  a  rule 
he  was  strictly  punctual,  but  not  ahead  of  time.  A  domestic 
discord,  over  which  delicacy  bids  us  draw  the  curtain,  had 
driven  him  from  the  easy-chair  in  which  lie  was  accustomed  to 
sip  his  afternoon  coffee.  So  it  happened  that  the  seniors  had 
withdrawn  their  usual  watch. 


1  Making  all  due  allowance  for  caricature,  it  is  evident  that  the  mannerism 
of  Dr.  Heinzerling  was  very  pronounced. 


THE  VISIT  TO  THE  CELL  523 

In  the  corridor  the  Professor  perceived  that  a  great  commo- 
tion was  taking  place  in  his  lecture  room.  Forty  noisy  young- 
sters were  shouting  "  Bravo  ! "  and  "  Da  capo  !  "  (dah  cah'  po).1 

Samuel  wrinkled  his  forehead. 

Now  the  racket  ceased,  and  a  clear,  cutting  voice  began  in 
comic  pathos : 

"We-e-11,  yo'  may  call  it  enoof  for  this  tune.  Yo'  have 
failed  again  to  prepa-a-re  yoarself  prawperly.  Heppenheimer, 
I  am  mooch  dissa-a-tisfied  with  yo' !  Be  seated !  " 

Thundering  applause. 

The  Professor  stood  as  if  petrified. 

By  all  the  gods  of  Greece,  that  was  himself,  as  he  lived  and 
breathed.  A  little  caricatured,  but  only  an  expert  could  tell 
the  difference.  Such  blasphemy  had  never  been  heard  of !  It 
would  be  a  byword !  It  would  raise  a  rebellion !  A  pupil 
was  bold  enough,  on  his  own  platform,  to  make  a  laughing- 
stock of  him,  the  actual  Principal  of  this  whole  Gymnasium, 
the  author  of  the  "  Latin  Grammar  for  Schools  and  Colleges, 
Adapted  Especially  to  the  Wants  of  Advanced  Pupils ; "  the 
popular  teacher,  the  critic,  the  philosopher  —  Proh,  Pudor ! 
Ronos  sit  auribus  !  2  Such  a  prank  could  originate  only  in  the 
brain  of  that  precious  rascal,  William  Rompf . 

"  Weel  yo'  transla-a-te,  Moericke  ? "  continued  the  voice  of 
the  unconscionable  pupil. 

"Wh-a-at!  Yo'  are  seek?  Great  Caesar!  When  yong 
people  of  yoar  age  tell  me  they  are  seek,  they  make  a  ve-e-ry 
ba-a-d  eempression. 

"  Knebel !  Write  in  the  Re-e-gister,  '  Moericke,  when  called 
to  transla-a-te,  was  seek  — ' ' 

The  Professor  was  no  longer  able  to  master  his  emotions. 
He  opened  the  door  energetically,  and  walked  in  upon  the 
youngsters,  like  a  lion  among  gazelles.  He  had  not  been 
deceived.  It  was,  indeed,  William  Rumpf  that  had  so  trifled 

1  A  term  used  in  music  to  indicate  a  repetition  from  the  beginning.    It  is  used 
here  as  an  expression  of  approval. 

2  For  shame  !    Let  the  ears  be  honored. 


524  fiRNST  ECKSTEIN 

with  his  majesty.  This  young  man  had  been  a  pupil  of  tfce 
Gymnasium  only  six  weeks,  and  yet  he  was  already  facile  prin- 
ceps 1  among  the  wags  of  the  school,  from  Freshman  to  Senior. 
With  his  shirt  collar  turned  up,  and  an  enormous  pair  of  paper 
spectacles  on  his  nose,  in  his  left  hand  a  book,  and  in  his  right 
the  traditional  lead  pencil,  stood  Rumpf  on  the  platform,  ready 
to  commit  a  new  sacrilege,  as  the  deeply  suffering  Professor 
entered. 

"  Roampf ! "  said  Samuel  forcibly,  "  Roampf !  Yo'  will  gaw 
for  two  days  to  the  lock-oop.2  Knebel,  write  in  the  Re-e-gis- 
ter ,  '  Roampf,  on  account  of  puerile  and  eemprawper  conduct, 
is  punished  with  two  days'  confinement  in  the  lock-oop.'  Hep- 
penheimer,  call  the  ja-a-nitor." 

"But,  Professor  — "  stammered  Rumpf,  as  he  stuffed  the 
paper  spectacles  into  his  pocket  and  took  his  seat. 

"  Naw  back-talk  ! " 

"  I  was  only  —  I  thought  —  " 

"  Silence,  I  say  !  " 

"But  please — " 

"  Knebel,  write  :  '  Roampf,  on  account  of  oonsoobmeesive 
conduct,  is  poonished  with  another  day's  confinement  in  the 
lock-oop.'  I  am  tired  of  bothering  with  yo'.  Yo'  should  be 
asha-a-med  of  yourself  —  And  in  yoar  own  lecture  room,  too ! 
Fie!  I  say.  Fie!" 

"But,  Professor,  Audiatur  et  altera  pars.3  Haven't  you 
often  told  us  so?" 

"  We-e-11 !  Yo'  shall  not  sa-a-y  that  I  do  not  sta-a-nd  by 
my  principles.  What  have  yo'  to  offer  in  excuse  ?  " 

"  I  assure  you,  I  did  not  intend  anything  unseemly.  I  meant 
merely  to  practice  a  little  mimicry." 

"Pra-a-ctice  on  yoar  La-a-tin  pa-a-radigm  and  yoar  Greek 
Gra-a-mmar  I  " 


1  The  admitted  chief. 

2  Cells  for  the  solitary  confinement  of  refractory  students  constitute  a  part  of 
the  regular  equipment  of  German  gymnasiums  and  universities- 

8  Let  the  other  side  be  heard. 


THE   VISIT  TO   THE  CELL  525 

"So  I  do,  Professor.  But  art  has  a  place  along  with 
science.'.' 

"  I  ne-e-ver  denied  that  in  my  life.  Boot  Caesar !  To  call 
your  silliness  art !  If  tha-a-t  were  the  ca-a-se,  art  would  be 
ve-e-ry  useless !  " 

"  Professor,  will  you  please  —  " 

"  Silence !  If  yo'  keep  on,  yo'  will  sooner  or  la-a-ter  sooffer 
shipwreck.  Knipcke,  see  where  the  ja-a-nitor  and  Heppen- 
heimer  are  wa-a-iting." 

"  For  this  once  —  just  this  once,"  came  from  Rumpf  in  a  low 
and  conciliating  tone,  "  can  you  not  remit  the  punishment  ?  " 

"  Naw,  by  naw  means !  We  will  not  be  f  oorther  inter- 
roopted  in  our  woork.  Hutzler,  yo'  may  tra-a-nsla-a-te  — 

"  Professor,  I  am  not  prepared  with  my  translation.  Here 
is  my  excuse." 

"Saw,  yo'  were  seek  again?  Hutzler,  yo'  are  oftener  seek 
than  we-e-11." 

"  Unfortunately,  Professor,  my  weak  constitution  — 

"  Weak !  I  should  say  weak !  I  wish  e-e-vryone  were  as 
weak  as  yo' !  Yo'  are  la-a-zy  enoof,  boot  not  weak  !  " 

"  Lazy  ?     I  can't  work  during  an  attack  of  fever  !  " 

"  I  oonderstand  tha-a-t !  Yo've  been  dreenking  too  mooch 
beer  !  Yo'  may  tra-a-nsla-a-te,  Gildemeister." 

"  Absent !  "  shouted  a  half  dozen  voices. 

Samuel  shook  his  head  dejectedly. 

"  Does  a-a-nyone  know  why  Gildemeister  is  a-a-bsent?  " 

"  He  has  catarrh  I  "  shouted  the  six. 

"  Catarrh !  When  I  was  of  his  age,  I  never  had  catarrh. 
But  where  are«Knipcke  and  Heppenheimer  ?  Schwarz,  hoont 
them  op,  but  come  ba-a-ck  immediately  !  " 

Schwartz  left,  and  returned  in  about  ten  minutes  with  the 
janitor  and  the  other  two  messengers. 

"  Mr.  Quaddler  was  busy  papering  the  wall,"  said  Heppen- 
heimer respectfully.  "  He  had  to  dress  up  a  little." 

"  Saw  yo'  wait  a  half  an  hour !  Quaddler,  I  find  yo'  are 
grawing  ca-a-reless !  " 


526  ERNST  ECKSTEIN 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  Professor ;  the  young  gentlemen  called 
me  not  over  two  minutes  ago." 

"  Listen  to  that !  "  chorused  the  culprits. 

"  I  will  not  investigate  this  act  at  present !  Here  !  Take 
Roampf,  and  shut  him  in  the  lock-oop.  Roampf,  yo'  will 
beha-a-ve  yoarself  properly,  and  not  be  continually  calling 
the  janitor,  as  you  did  last  week.  Quaddler,  dawn't  allow 
yoarself  to  be  persuaded  to  let  Roampf  out  oopon  the  floor  of 
the  entry.  If  he  wants  ayer,  he  can  open  the  window.  Yo'd 
best  put  everything  necessary  inside  the  cell,  and  lock  the  door 
once  for  all.  He  dawn't  come  out  till  Friday  evening." 

"  Capital,  Professor  !  " 

"He  can  arrange  concerning  his  meals  with  some  of  his 
friends.  Yo'  oonderstand  ?  " 

Rumpf  nodded. 

"  We-e-11  !     Away  with  him  !  " 

"  Are  you  really  in  earnest,  Professor  ?  All  on  account  of  a 
little  artistic  rendering  —  " 

Samuel  Heinzerling  laughed  in  the  true  pedagogical  style. 

"  Yo'  are  a  droll  chap,  in  spite  of  yoar  oonseemliness.  But  I 
ca-a-n't  help  yo'.  Until  yo'  demonstrate  to  me  wherein  yoar 
alleged  artistic  rendering  is  useful  or  beneficial  —  to  say 
nothing  of  yoar  oonseemly  tendencies  —  yo'  moost  submit  to 
the  inevitable.  We-e-11,  gaw  along  with  him  now  !  " 

William  Rumpf  bit  his  lip,  turned,  and  disappeared  with 
Quaddler  in  the  corridor. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  ? "  asked  the  janitor,  as  they 
ascended  the  stairs. 

"  Nothing  !  " 

"Excuse  me  ;  you  must  have  been  doing  something." 

"I  did  just  what  the  Professor  does  every  day." 

"  How  so  ?  " 

"Listen  now  —  Do  yo'  see  that?  Roampf  is  a  good-for- 
nothing,  my  dear  Quaddler,  and  desairves  exemplary  poon- 
ishment." 

"  Great  Heaven  above  !  "  exclaimed  the  janitor,  scratching 


THE  VISIT  TO   THE  CELL  527 

his  head.  "If  anyone  had  told  me  that  was  possible — but 
that  is  too  bad,  Mr.  Rumpf  !  Goodness  knows  that  if  I  hadn't 
seen  you  with  my  own  eyes  I  should  have  sworn  I  heard  the 
Professor's  own  voice.  I  should  say  so  a  thousand  times. 
You  will  make  your  mark  yet  in  that  line.  Do  you  know 
that  when  I  was  over  at  Lotz's  I  heard  a  ventriloquist  who 
could  imitate  anything  you  pleased,  from  a  dog  or  a  horse  to 
a  wedding  ceremony,  —  but  he  didn't  begin  to  come  up  to 
you." 

"  I  believe  it  is  saw,  Quaddler,"  returned  Rumpf,  still  imita- 
ting the  Professor. 

"  And  you  have  been  mocking  him  to  his  face  !  Now,  Mr. 
Rumpf,  I  tell  you  for  your  own  good  —  everything  in  its 
proper  place.  That  was  very  improper.  The  Professor  has 
good  reason  for  what  he  does." 

"  Yo'  think  saw  ?  " 

"  I  must  politely  ask  you  to  quit  your  nonsense.  It  is  not 
respectful  to  my  position.  Please  to  walk  in  here  !  " 

"  With  mooch  pleasure." 

"  I  will  say  to  the  professor,  Mr.  Rumpf,  that  he  has  not 
given  you  enough  punishment." 

"  How  does  my  pooiiishment  concern  you,  Mr.  Quaddler,  yo' 
silly  awld  fool !  " 

"  Concern  me  ?  Not  at  all  !  But  it  does  concern  me  when 
you  make  sport  of  the  Professor  in  an  impudent  way." 

"  I  will  do  as  I  please." 

"No,  you  won't." 

"  Won't  I  ?  I  can  sa-a-y  what  I  please  ;  and  if  yo'  doan't 
like  it,  yo'  can  gaw  away  or  stop  oop  yoar  ears." 

"You  just  wait  !  " 

"What  for?" 

"I  shall  tell  the  Professor  about  this." 

"  Give  him  my  compliments." 

"  You'll  be  sorry,  yet  !  " 

Quaddler  turned  the  key,  and  his  footsteps  slowly  sounded 
down  the  long  staircase. 


528  ERNST  ECKSTEIN 

Meanwhile,  in  the  hall  of  the  Seniors,  Sophocles  was  being 
eagerly  interpreted.  Much  to  the  mirth  of  the  hilarious  class, 
Heppenheimer  rendered  the  groan  of  the  unhappy  Philoctetes : 1 
"  Ay  !  ay  !  ay  !  ay  !  " 

The  Professor  interrupted  him. 

"  Say  aw  !  aw  !  aw  !  aw  !  Ay  is  not  allowable  as  an  inter- 
jection expressing  pain." 

"  I  thought  that  oh  is  allowable  to  express  bodily  suffering 
only,"  remarked  Heppenheimer. 

"  Now,  perha-a-ps  yo'  think  that  Philoctetes  sooffered  awnly 
mentally.  Yo'  appear  to  have  followed  out  the  plot  of  the 
tragedy  with  a  ve-e-ry  slight  degree  of  attention." 

"  Some  one  is  knocking,  Professor,"  said  Knebel. 

"See  who  it  is,  Knipcke." 

Knipcke  hastened  to  the  door. 

"What,  yo',  Quaddler?  Why  do  yo'  distoorb  us  again? 
Speak  out  quickly  !  " 

"I  only  wished  to  remark,  sir,  that  Senior  Rumpf  is  still 
talking  in  the  manner  for  which  you  punished  him." 

"  What !  He  prawceeds  with  the  comedy  !  We-e-11,  I  knaw 
what  measure  to  take  next.  Knebel,  write  in  the  Register  — 
naw,  let  it  gaw  !  Heppenheimer  proceed.  Say  aw  !  aw  !  aw  ! 
aw  !  —  not  ay  !  ay  !  ay  !  ay  !  The  following  exclamation 
yo'  may  render  with  '  Ye  eternal  gods  ! '  or  '  Almighty 
Heaven  ! ' " 

Heppenheimer  finished  his  task  and  brought  forth  an  indif- 
ferent "  Sa-a-tisfactory,"  from  the  Professor.  Then  Schwarz 
translated,  only  to  receive  a  "  Not  we-e-11  rendered !  " 

Now  the  janitor's  bell  sounded.  The  author  of  "  The  Latin 
Grammar  for  Schools  and  Colleges,  Adapted  Especially,"  etc., 
declared  the  recitation  ended. 


1  Sophocles'  tragedy  of  Philoctetes  (the  original  Rohinson  Crusoe,  the  cast- 
away of  Lemnos)  is  one  of  the  masterpieces  of  Greek  drama,  being  one  of 
the  most  perfect  character  studies  in  all  literature.  The  unfortunate  Philoctetes 
was  afflicted  with  bodily  torture  as  well  as  mental  anguish, 


THE  VISIT  TO  THE  CELL  529 

Dr.  Kluf enbrecher  appeared  in  the  door ;  this  was  the  Pro- 
fessor of  Mathematics,  whose  duty  it  was  to  entertain  the 
Seniors  from  three  till  four  o'clock  with  the  secrets  of  analyti- 
cal geometry.  Samuel  Heinzerling  extended  his  much-freckled 
right  hand  to  his  "  esteemed  coworker,"  condescendingly,  but 
not  without  a  certain  human  sympathy,  and  then  betook  him- 
self to  the  Principal's  office,  where  he  seated  himself  in  his 
well-cushioned  chair. 

Quaddler  went,  meanwhile,  to  the  work  which  employed  his 
odd  hours.  He  dipped  the  brush  vigorously  into  the  paste- 
pot,  and  smeared  strip  after  strip  of  paper  with  the  odoriferous 
glue. 

William  Rumpf  sat  yawning  on  the  bench,  and  declared  to 
himself  that  he  was  completely  tired  of  the  Gymnasium,  with 
its  undeserved  imprisonment. 

Professor  Samuel  Heinzerling  scratched  his  head,  turned  his 
spectacles,  and  nodded  in  a  pedagogical  way. 

"The  miserable  yoongster,  Roampf,"  murmured  he  to  him- 
self. "  Boot  I  almawst  believe  I  can  do  more  with  him  by  kind- 
ness than  by  force.  I  will  make  a  strong  la-a-st  appeal  to  his 
conscience.  Shame  on  him !  He  is  one  of  my  brightest 
scholars." 

The  Professor  rang  the  bell.  In  about  three  minutes  ap- 
peared Annie,  Quaddler's  sixteen-year-old  daughter.  She  was 
evidently  about  to  take  a  walk,  as  a  jaunty  hat  adorned  her 
jetty  locks  and  a  gay  shawl  hung  loosely  from  her  graceful 
shoulders. 

"  What  is  wanting,  Professor  ? "  she  asked  with  a  gracious 
bow. 

"  Where  is  your  father  ? "  asked  the  Professor  softly,  and 
pronouncing  uncommonly  well. 

"  He  is  hanging  paper  ;  do  you  want  him  for  anything  ?  " 

"  Hanging  pa-a-per,  is  he  ?  Well,  do  not  distoorb  him.  Noth- 
ing especial  is  needed,  Annie.  The  key  to  the  lock-oop  ha-a-ngs 
in  its  place,  does  it  not  ?  " 

"I  will  inquire  at  once,  Professor." 
sen.  IN  COM.  —  34 


530  ERNST  ECKSTEIN 

Like  a  deer  she  hastened  down  the  stairs.  In  a  few  seconds 
she  was  back. 

"  Yes,  Professor,  the  keys  are  both  in  place,  the  one  to  the 
cell,  and  the  other  to  the  entry.  Is  there  anything  else  I  can 
do  for  you,  Professor  ?  " 

"No,  I  tha-a-nk  yo'." 

Annie  vanished.  The  Professor  watched  her  disappear,  with 
a  smile. 

"A  charming  child.  I  would  give  mooch  if  my  Winifred 
possessed  ha-a-lf  saw  mooch  savoir  vivre,1  to  say  nothing  of 
Ismene.  This  Quaddler  is  a  paganus?  a  homo  incultus?  and, 
nevertheless,  he  is  able  to  bring  up  a  charming  lady  ;  while 
I,  the  well-educated  scholar  of  classical  antiquity,  I,  the  homo 
cui  nihil  humani  alienum  est,*  am  not  able  to  do  so  well  with 
my  more  favorably  circumstanced  posterity." 

He  rubbed  his  smoothly-shaven  chin,  took  his  hat  from  the 
table,  and  climbed  the  stairs  to  the  lock-up. 

William  Rumpf  was  greatly  surprised  when,  after  so  short 
a  time,  the  door  turned  on  its  hinges.  His  astonishment,  how- 
ever, reached  the  zenith  point  when  he  recognized  his  unexpected 
visitor  to  be  the  Principal,  Samuel  Heinzerling. 

"Now,  Roampf,"  said  the  conscientious  pedagogue. 

"  What  do  you  want,  Professor  ?  "  answered  the  pupil  in  a 
tone  of  resolute  obduracy. 

"  1  wished  awnly  to  inquire  whether  yo'  oonderstand  yoarself, 
and  realize  that  these  puerilities  roon  counter  to  the  object  and 
to  the  government  of  the  Gymnasium  —  " 

"  I  am  not  yet  convinced  —  " 

"  Wha-a-t,  Roampf  !  Yo'  will  continue  to  sta-a-nd  on  yoar 
hind  legs  ?  What  would  yo'  say  if  yo'  were  in  my  place  ? 
Would  yo'  not  take  this  mischievous,  overspirited  William 
'Roampf  by  the  ears  —  hey  ?" 

"  Professor  —  " 


1  Good  breeding.       2  Country  fellow.       8  Ignoramus. 
*  A  man  to  whom  nothing  relating  to  man  is  foreign. 


THE  VISIT  TO  THE  CELL  531 

"These  are  puerilities  not  becoming  in  a  respectable  yoong 
man  of  good  family.  Do  yo'  know  one  thing  ?  On  the  occa- 
sion of  the  next  stupid  pra-a-nk,  I  will  expel  yo'."  l 

"  Expel  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Roampf,  expel.  So  now  apply  yoarself  and  leave  off 
this  rudeness,  which  certainly  doos  yo'  naw  credit  —  I  repeat, 
put  yoarself  in  my  place." 

William  Rumpf  sat  with  his  head  bowed.  He  felt  that  the 
threatened  expulsion  was  only  a  question  of  time.  Suddenly 
a  diabolical  thought  entered  his  brain. 

"  If  I  am  put  out,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  it  will  be  with  much 
ceremony." 

He  laughed  like  the  criminal  hero  of  a  sensational  novel 
after  accomplishing  his  purposes,  and  said,  in  a  tone  of  incipient 
repentance,  "  You  mean,  Professor,  that  I  should  put  myself  in 
your  place  ?  " 

"Yes,  Roampf,  I  mean  it." 

"Well,  if  you  are  bound  to  have  it  so,  I  wish  you  much 
pleasure  !  " 

Thereupon  he  sprang  out  the  door,  turned  the  key  in  the 
lock,  and  left  the  poor  Professor  to  his  unexpected  fate. 

"  Roampf  !  How  dare  you  !  I  will  expel  yo'  to-day.  AVill 
yo'  open  instantly  ?  instantly,  I  say !  " 

"  You  get  two  hours'  imprisonment,"  answered  Rumpf,  with 
dignity.  "  You  said,  yourself,  that  I  should  put  myself  in  your 
place." 

"  Roampf,  there'll  be  trouble  for  you  —  trouble  I  say. 
Awpen !  I  command  it !  " 

"  You  cannot  command  me.  I  am,  at  present,  the  Principal. 
You  are  Freshman  Rumpf.  Be  still !  I  tolerate  no  back  talk ! " 

"  Roampf,  my  boy,  I  will  excuse  yo'  this  time.  Please  do 
the  square  thing.  Yo'  will  get  off  with  a  light  poonishment, 
yo'  will  not  be  expelled,  I  promise  yo'.  Do  yo'  hear?  " 

1  Expulsion  from  a  German  gymnasium  or  university  is  a  greater  misfortune 
than  might  be  supposed  by  American  students.  It  is  almost  certain  to  mean  the 
lite-long  failure  of  the  student  thus  disgraced. 


532  ERNST  ECKSTEIN 

But  Rumpf  did  hot  hear.  He  had  crossed  the  entry,  and 
was  now  hastening  down  the  stairs  to  escape  victorious.  As 
he  passed  the  janitor's  door  a  bright  idea  struck  him. 

He  put  his  eye  to  the  keyhole.  Quaddler  stood  on  the 
ladder,  with  his  back  to  the  door,  and  was  endeavoring  to  stick 
a  heavily  pasted  strip  of  paper  to  the  wall.  William  Rumpf 
rang  the  bell  and  called  into  the  room  in  the  most  beautiful 
Heinzerling  accent  which  he  could  command  : 

"  I  am  gawing  now,  Quaddler.  Look  a-a-fter  that  Roampf . 
The  creature  a-a-cts  as  if  he  were  insane.  He  is  bawld  enoof 
to  continue  with  his  foolery.  Remain  on  the  la-a-dder.  I 
wished  awnly  to  say  that  yo'  should  not  awpen  the  door  for 
him.  The  boy  would  be  in  a  pawsition  to  awverpower  yo', 
and  —  in  short  —  escape.  Do  yo'  hear,  Quaddler?" 

"  It  will  be  as  you  command,  Professor.  Excuse  me,  I  am 
up  here  —  " 

"  Remain  where  yo'  a-a-re,  and  prawceed  with  yoar  paper- 
hanging.  Good-by !  " 

"Your  obedient  servant,  Sir." 

William  Rumpf  climbed  the  stairs  once  again,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  the  region  of  the  cell.  Samuel  Heinzerling  raged 
fearfully.  Now  he  appeared  to  discover  the  bell ;  for  at  the 
same  moment  in  which  Rumpf  secreted  himself  behind  a  large 
wardrobe  belonging  to  the  janitor's  family,  there  arose  an 
angry  ringing,  piercing  and  shrill  as  a  small  company  of 
fiends. 

"  Help  !  "  groaned  the  pedagogue.  "  Help  !  Quaddler,  I 
will  deprive  you  of  office,  and  of  bread,  if  yo'  do  not  come  oop 
here  immediately.  Help  !  Fire  !  Fire  !  Moorder !  Help  !  " 

The  janitor,  summoned  by  the  ringing  of  the  bell,  left  his 
work  and  appeared  in  the  entry  to  the  cell.  The  mischievous 
Senior  crouched  closer  in  his  hiding-place.  Samuel  Heinzer- 
ling sat  exhausted  on  the  bench.  His  bosom  heaved.  His 
nostrils  worked  like  a  pair  of  bellows. 

"Mr.  Rumpf,"  said  Quaddler,  as  he  pounded  on  the  cell  door 
in  a  warning  way,  "  I  have  taken  note  of  this." 


THE  VISIT  TO  THE  CELL  533 

"  Thank  God !  It  is  yo',  Quaddler  !  This  miserable  choorl 
has  locked  me  in.  It  is  outrageous !  " 

"  I  tell  you  that  this  joking  ill  becomes  you.  I  take  especial 
notice  that  you  call  the  Professor  a  miserable  churl !  " 

"  Boot,  Quaddler,  a-a-re  yo'  crazy  ? "  exclaimed  Samuel  in 
a  tone  of  highest  indignation.  "  I  would  say  before  the  ha-a-ng- 
man  that  Roampf,  the  miserable  fellow,  has  imprisoned  me,  as 
I  ca-a-lled  to  see  him  and  appeal  to  his  conscience.  Dawn't 
sta-a-nd  on  ceremony ;  awpen!" 

"You  must  consider  me  very  stupid,  Mr.  Rumpf.  The 
Professor  has  just  talked  with  me,  and  ordered  me  particularly 
not  to  let  you  out  under  any  circumstances." 

"  Quaddler,  I  threaten  you  with  the  guard-house,  on  the 
ground  of  false  eemprisonment !  " 

"  Listen,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  make  an  observation ;  this 
eternal  mimicking  of  the  Professor  is  really  childish.  No 
offense  meant !  It  is  true  the  Professor  speaks  a  little  through 
his  nose.  But  such  buffoonery  as  your  twaddle  will  not  pass 
for  the  Professor  very  long.  And  now  I  tell  you,  for  the  last 
time,  to  be  quiet  and  behave  yourself  properly." 

"  Boot,  I  repeat  to  yo',  the  shameless,  ill-intentioned  ra-a-s- 
cal  toorned  the  key  on  me,  before  I  knew  what  he  was  about. 
Quaddler !  Creature  !  Donkey  !  Yo'  moost  recognize  me  ! 
Awpen  the  door !  " 

"  What  ?  You  call  me  a  donkey  ?  You  call  me  a  creature  ? 
Yes;  do  you  know  one  thing?  It's  a  question  which  of  us  is 
the  bigger  donkey.  What  next?  A  great  young  stripling 
calls  a  respectable  old  man  a  donkey.  You  are  a  donkey  your- 
self ;  do  you  hear  ?  Wait  a  little  —  " 

"  Yo'  a-a-re  a  donkey  a-a-nd  an  ox,"  groaned  Samuel  de- 
spondently. "  Will  you  not  awpen  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  think  of  it." 

"  Good  !  Vairy  good  !  I  remain  in  the  lock-oop  !  Do  yo' 
hear,  Quaddler?  I  remain  in  the  lock-oop  !  " 

"  I  shall  be  glad  when  you  come  to  your  reason.  But  let  me 
alone.  I  have  more  to  do  than  to  listen  to  your  buffoonery !  " 


534  ERNST  ECKSTEIN 

"  Quaddler,"  said  Samuel  more  forcibly,  "  I  will  sit  quiet 
hour  a-a-f ter  hour  —  hour  a-a-f ter  hour,  I  say !  I  will  bear 
this  crying  evil  like  an  inexperienced  child.  Do  you  hear, 
Quaddler?" 

"I  am  going  now;  busy  yourself  with  something." 

"  Great  Caesar  !  My  reason  deceives  me.  A-a-m  I  really 
m-a-d  ?  Creature  !  Look  through  the  key-hole  once,  and  yo' 
will  see  —  " 

"  Yes  !     So  you  can  blow  into  my  eyes  !     Hardly  !  " 

"  We-e-11  then,  gaw  to  the  Dickens  !  The  gods  strive  in  vain 
with  stupidity.  Boot  if  I  woonce  koom  out  —  if  I  woonce  koom 
out,  I  will  give  it  to  yo'  !  Yo'  will  naw  longer  be  ja-a-nitor." 

Quaddler  proceeded  angrily  down  the  stairs.  This  Rumpf 
was  a  marvel  of  impertinence.  He  had  called  him  a  donkey  ! 
Thunder  and  lightning  !  Since  Mrs.  Katrina  Quaddler  had 
periodically  blessed  him,  the  like  had  not  happened. 

Yes,  yes,  these  Seniors  !  Meanwhile,  Samuel  Heinzerling 
measured  great  steps  in  his  cell. 

His  whole  appearance  resembled  that  of  an  African  lion, 
which  human  skill  is  able  to  confine  in  a  cage  without  being 
able  to  crush  the  nobility  and  pride  of  his  wild  nature.  With 
his  hands  behind  his  back,  his  head  with  its  gray  mane  inclined 
dejectedly  toward  his  right  shoulder,  his  lips  compressed  —  so 
he  wandered  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  cherishing  in  his 
bosom  the  most  misanthropic  thoughts. 

Presently  a  broad  smile  spread  over  his  countenance. 

"  Boot  yet  it  is  comical,"  he  uttered  to  himself.  "  Indeed  ! 
If  I  were  not  saw  immediately  concerned,  I  might  find  it  vairy 
amusing  —  " 

He  remained  standing  — 

"  Boot  doos  this  being  out-witted  really  redound  to  my  dis- 
grace ?  Prove  it,  Samuel  !  Ha-a-s  not  a  renowned  king  him- 
self held  the  ladder  for  a  thief  who  would  steal  his  watch  ? 
Was  not  Prince  Bismarck  himself  locked  in  by  a  wicked  and 
intriguing  ha-a-nd  ?  Besides,  not  to  mention  hoondreds  of 
other  cases  !  A-a-nd  yet  universal  history  treats  this  king 


THE   VISIT  TO   THE  CELL  535 

with  great  respect,  a-a-nd  Prince  Bismarck  pa-a-sses  for  the 
greatest  diplomat  in  Europe,  the  same  as  before.  Naw,  naw, 
Sa-a-muel  !  Yoar  reputation  as  pedagogue,  as  citizen,  as  coolti- 
vated  scholar  doos  not  soof er  in  the  least  from  this  painful  situa- 
tion !  Calm  yourself,  Sa-a-muel." 

He  continued  his  promenade  with  calmer  voice.  But  pres- 
ently he  broke  out  anew. 

"  Boot  my  Seniors  !  "  he  stammered,  turning  pale.  "  If^  my 
Seniors  learn  that  I  have  been  in  the  lock-oop  !  Oonbearable 
thought !  My  authority  would  be  gone  for  all  time  !  They 
moost  find  it  out !  O,  ye  Gods  !  Why  ha-a-ve  ye  doon  this 
to  me  !  " 

"  Professor,"  whispered  a  well-known  voice  at  the  cell  door. 
"You  are  not  disgraced.  Your  authority  stands  in  full 
force  —  " 

"Roampf !  "  stammered  Samuel.  "Yo'  shameless,  conscience- 
less creature  !  Awpen  !  Immediately  !  Consider  yoar  ears  as 
morally  boxed  !  You  are  expelled  in  a  threefold  ma-a-nner." 

"Professor,  I  come  to  rescue  you.     Do  not  berate  me." 

"  To  rescue  ?     Wha-a-t  impudence  !     Awpen,  or  I  will  — 

"  Will  you  listen  to  me  quietly,  Professor  ?  I  assure  you  all 
will  come  out  right." 

Samuel  reflected. 

"  Good  ! "  he  said,  at  length.     "  I  will  condescend  —  Speak  ! " 

"  See  here  !  I  wanted  only  to  show  you  that  my  art  is  not 
altogether  without  practical  application.  Excuse  me  if  to  do 
this  I  apparently  had  to  lay  aside  the  high  respect  and  honor 
which  it  has  always  been  my  pleasure  to  render  you." 

"  Yo'  are  a  sca-a-mp,  Roampf  !  " 

"How  would  it  be  if  you  were  to  remit  the  confinement 
in  the  lock-up,  take  back  the  threat  of  expulsion,  and  allow 
me  to  preserve  the  strictest  silence  concerning  all  these  occur- 
rences ! " 

"  Tha-a-t  will  not  do.     Yo'  moost  endure  yoar  poonishment ! " 

"  Is  that  so  ?  Well,  good-by,  Professor.  Don't  ring  the  bell 
too  much ! " 


536  ERNST  ECKSTEIN 

"  Roampf !     Do  yo'  hear?     I  have  something  to  say  to  yo' ! " 

"Indeed!" 

"  Yo'  are  in  many  respects  an  exceptional  character.  I  will 
make  an  exception.  Awpen  the  door." 

"  Do  you  remit  the  lock-up  punishment  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Will  you  expel  me  ?  " 

"The  Dickens  !     Naw  !  " 

"  Give  me  your  word  of  honor." 

"  Roampf,  how  dare  yo' ! " 

"  Your  word  of  honor,  Professor. " 

"  We-e-11,  yo'  ha-a-ve  it." 

"Jupiter  to  witness." 

"What?" 

"I  call  the  gods  to  witness  it." 

"  Awpen ! " 

"  Immediately,  Professor.    You  will  not  pursue  me  further  ?  " 

" Naw,  naw,  naw.     Will  yo'  let  me  out?  " 

"  You  grant  me  full  pardon?  " 

"  Yes,  oonder  woon  condition,  —  tha-a-t  yo'  do  not  relate  to 
anywoon  how  ba-a-dly  yo'  have  behaved.  I  have  already  said 
I  consider  yo'  an  exceptional  cha-a-racter,  Roampf." 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  good  opinion ;  also  my  word  of  honor 
that,  so  long  as  you  are  Principal  of  the  Gymnasium  and 
instructor  of  the  Senior  class,  no  derogatory  word  shall  escape 
my  lips." 

Thereupon  he  opened  the  door. 

As  Uhland's  king  out  of  the  tower,  so  walked  Samuel  Hein- 
zerling  into  the  free  air.  He  drew  a  deep  breath.  Then  he 
passed  his  right  hand  over  his  forehead,  as  if  thinking  of 
something. 

"Roampf ! "  he  said,  "I  oondersta-a-nd  a  jawk — boot  yo'  will 
please  not  mimic  me  any  more  —  yo'  make  the  thing  so  real !  " 

"Your  wish  is  my  command." 

"  Good !  Now  let  oos  gaw  down.  It  is  not  yet  three 
quarters.  You  can  still  take  part  in  the  recitation." 


THE  VISIT  TO   THE  CELL  637 

"But  would  they  not  be  surprised,  Professor?  Everyone 
knows  that  you  have  sentenced  me  to  three  days  in  the 
lock-up  — 

"  We-e-11,  I  will  gaw  with  yo'." 

So  they  hastened  down  the  stairs. 

"  Quaddler,"  called  the  Professor  into  the  basement.  The 
janitor  appeared  at  the  lower  landing  and  inquired  what  was 
wanted. 

"On  va-a-rious  grounds,  I  have  released  Roampf  from  his 
three  days'  imprisonment,"  said  Samuel. 

"  Ah  !  You  returned  on  that  account  ?  Hem  !  Yes,  but  — 
excuse  me,  Professor,  —  Mr.  Rumpf  was  not  at  all  quiet  in  his 
cell.  No  offense,  but  he  scolded  like  a  sparrow  —  " 

"  Let  it  gaw,  Quaddler  !  I  will  for  this  time,  for  very  excep- 
tional reasons,  soobstitute  grace  for  justice.  Yo'  can  take  care 
of  the  cell  key." 

Quaddler  shook  his  head. 

"  We-e-11,"  said  Samuel,  "  now  koom  with  me  to  the  Seniors' 
Hall,  Roampf." 

They  walked  across  the  corridor  to  the  schoolroom.  The 
Professor  knocked. 

"  Professor  Klufenbrecher,"  he  said  in  the  softest  accents  of 
which  he  was  capable,  "I  bring  Roampf  ba-a-ck.  Knebel 
(Permit  me,  Professor  Klufenbrecher),  write  in  the  Register  : 
'  In  consideration  of  his  oopright  and  repentant  condooct,  Senior 
Roampf's  poonishment  inflicted  to-day,  consisting  of  three  days' 
confinement  in  the  lock-oop,  is  hereby  ca-a-nceled."  And  now, 
Professor  Klufenbrecher,  we  will  not  distoorb  yo'  further. 
Ha-a-ve  yo'  it  written,  Knebel?  —  "is  hereby  ca-a-nceled." 

"Will  you  not  be  seated,  Professor?"  asked  the  polite 
mathematician. 

"  I  tha-a-nk  yo'  kindly ;  I  have  sa-a-t  enoof  for  to-day. 
Roampf,  I  trust  yo'  will  keep  yoar  promise  of  reform  mawst 
conscientiously.  Good  day,  Professor." 

So  saying,  he  disappeared  in  the  labyrinth  of  passages  of 
the  school  building. 


538  ERNST  ECKSTEIN 

William  Rumpf  kept  his  promise  most  conscientiously.  •  He 
now  mimicked  -only  the  other  teachers.  Samuel  Heinzerling's 
personality  was  to  him  sacred  and  unapproachable. 

Profound  silence  hung  over  the  whole  matter  till,  in  the  fall 
of  the  year,  the  same  Principal,  after  much  entreaty,  consented 
to  be  placed  on  the  retired  list.  The  sportive  Senior  class  then 
learned,  for  the  first  time,  the  history  of  the  unexpected 
pardon. 

Rumpf's  "  oopright  and  repentant  condooct "  was  a  source  of 
endless  mirth  to  the  villagers,  and  among  those  who  enjoyed 
the  joke  most  was  Professor  Samuel  Heinzerling,  author  of 
the  "Latin  Grammar,"  etc. 

May  it  be  granted  to  him  often  to  relate  over  the  foaming 
glass  how  he  visited  the  unconscionable  William  Rumpf  in 
the  lock-up.  Rumpf,  for  his  part,  will  never  forget  his  experi- 
ence under  the  jurisdiction  of  Quaddler,  should  he  become  so 
old  as  to  be  childish. 


OUTLINES   AND   NOTES   OF  READING  CIRCLE 

WORK 


FIKST   MONTH,  pp.  5-42 


INTRODUCTION 

1.  The  value  of  humor  and  satire  as  correctives  of  faults  in 
society ;  their  value  in  the  educational  world.  2.  The  rank  of 
the  authors  comprised  in  this  volume. 

FRANCOIS   RABELAIS 

STUDIES 

General.  —  1.  The  influence  of  Don  Quixote.  2.  The  great 
service  rendered  by  Rabelais  to  mankind.  3.  Why  his  work 
is,  as  a  whole,  unsuited  to  the  general  reader;  how  it  must  be 
judged.  4.  The  career  of  Rabelais;  his  rank  in  literature. 
5.  Distinction  between  coarseness  and  pruriency ;  which  is  the 
more  harmful?  6.  How  the  coarseness  of  Rabelais  has  subserved 
a  valuable  end.  7.  Van  Laun's  characterization  of  Rabelais ; 
Fortier's  criticism  upon  Rabelais'  system  of  education.  8.  Tubal 
Holofernes  as  a  teacher.  9.  The  results  of  Eudemon's  early 
training.  10.  Ponocrates  as  a  teacher.  11.  How  Gargantua 
passed  the  day.  12.  How  Gargantua  became  acquainted  with 
the  classic  authors.  18-  Gargantua's  physical  training;  its 

639 


540     OUTLINES  AND  NOTES  OF  READING  CIRCLE  WORK 

thoroughness.  14.  Gargantua's  study  of  botany;  of  music. 
15.  Gargantua's  dinner;  his  devotions.  16.  Gargantua's  rainy 
days,  and  how  he  spent  them ;  his  acquaintance  with  the 
details  of  the  industries  of  his  time;  his  monthly  holiday,  and 
its  diversions.  17.  Gargantua's  letter  to  Pantagruel ;  the  in- 
creased responsibilities  which  come  with  improved  opportunities. 
18.  Gargantua's  impracticable  scheme  of  language  study;  his 
excellent  advice  as  to  morals.  19.  The  Limousin  student,  and 
his  pedantry;  the  influence  of  this  satire  on  the  purity  of 
modern  languages. 

Pedagogical.  —  1.  General  criticism  upon  the  scheme  of  edu- 
cation advanced  by  Rabelais.  2.  The  beneficent  influence  of 
Rabelais  as  the  "morning  star  of  the  educational  reforma- 
tion." 3.  The  alphabetic  method  of  teaching  young  pupils. 
4.  The  religious  and  moral  training  of  children.  5.  The  physi- 
cal training  of  youths.  6.  What  constitutes  the  most  desirable 
education  in  the  classics?  7.  The  value  to  pupils  of  an  ac- 
quaintance with  arts  and  industries.  8.  Purity  in  the  use  of 
language. 

NOTES 

Grand,  noble,  colossal,  but  at  the  same  time  (as  our  readers  need  hardly 
be  cautioned)  totally  impracticable  and  Utopian,  Milton's  plan  of  education 
embraces,  like  that  of  ancient  Greeks  (as  may  be  collected  from  the  half 
fabulous  accounts  of  the  antique  philosophers  and  historians),  the  physical, 
no  less  than  the  moral  and  intellectual  development  of  the  human  powers. 
The  bodies  of  the  English  youths  were  to  be  trained  in  all  kinds  of  corporal 
and  gymnastic  exercises,  while  their  minds  were  to  be  occupied  with  the 
whole  cycle  of  human  knowledge,  in  which  the  arts  (particularly  music) 
were  by  no  means  to  be  neglected.  The  whole  scheme  reminds  the  reader 
of  nothing  so  strongly  as  of  the  half-burlesque  description  of  the  education 
of  Pantagruel  in  the  immortal  romance  of  Rabelais. 

—  E.  B.  SHAW. 

I  call,  therefore,  a  complete,  generous  education,  that  which  fits  a  man  to 
perform  justly,  skillfully,  and  magnanimously  all  the  offices,  both  public 

and  private,  of  peace  and  of  war. 

— JOHN  MILTON. 


FRANQOIS  RABELAIS  541 

John  Locke's  Essay  on  Education  contains,  as  Hallam  says,  more  good 
sense  on  the  subject  than  can  be  found  in  any  preceding  writer.  He  con- 
templates the  education  of  the  whole  man  —  intellectual,  moral,  and  physi- 
cal. Useful  and  customary  accomplishments,  as  well  as  book-learning,  are 
required  by  his  system.  It  is  held  that  he  overstates  the  influence  of  habit 
in  molding  character,  and  also  that  his  idea  of  discipline  is  harsh  and 
severe.  ... 

Education,  in  its  widest  sense,  is  a  general  expression  that  comprehends 
all  the  influences  which  operate  on  the  human  being,  stimulating  his  facul- 
ties to  action,  forming  his  habits,  molding  his  character,  and  making  him 
what  he  is.  Though  so  powerfully  affected  by  these  influences,  he  may  be 
entirely  unconscious  of  them.  They  are  to  him  as  the  wind,  which  bloweth 
where  it  listeth ;  but  he  knows  not  whence  it  cometh  nor  whither  it  goeth. 
They  are  not,  however,  less  real  on  this  account. 

The  circumstances  by  which  he  is  surrounded  —  the  climate,  the  natural 
scenery,  the  air  he  breathes,  the  food  he  eats,  the  moral  tone  of  the  family 
life,  that  of  the  community  —  all  have  a  share  in  converting  the  raw  mate- 
rial of  human  nature,  either  into  healthy,  intelligent,  moral,  and  religious 
man  or,  on  the  contrary,  in  converting  it  into  an  embodiment  of  weakness, 
stupidity,  wickedness,  and  misery.  Thus  external  influences,  automatically 
acting  upon  a  neutral  nature,  produce,  each  after  its  kind,  the  most  opposite 
results. 

In  this  sense  the  poor  little  gamin  of  our  streets,  who  defiles  the  air  with 
his  blasphemies,  whose  thoughts  are  of  the  dirt,  dirty,  who  picks  our  pockets 
with  a  clear  conscience,  has  been  duly  educated  by  the  impure  atmosphere, 
the  squalid  misery,  the  sad  examples  of  act  and  speech  presented  to  him  in 
his  daily  life,  to  be  the  outcast  that  he  is.  Such  instances  show  the  won- 
drous power  of  the  education  of  circumstances.  .  .  . 

But  education  is  conscious,  as  wrell  as  unconscious.  Some  cause  or  other 
suggests  the  desire  for  improvement.  The  teacher  appears  in  the  field,  and 
civilization  begins  its  career.  The  civilization  which  we  contrast  with  bar- 
barism is  simply  the  result  of  that  action  of  mind  on  mind  which  carries 
forward  the  teaching  of  nature,  —  in  other  words,  of  what  we  call  educa- 
tion. Wher,e  there  is  no  specific  conscious  education,  there  is  no  civilization. 
Where  education  is  fully  appreciated,  the  result  is  high  civilization ;  and 
generally,  as  education  advances,  civilization  advances  in  proportion,  and 
thus  affords  a  measure  of  its  influence.  It  follows,  then,  that  all  the  civili- 
zation that  exists  is  ultimately  due  to  the  educator,  including,  of  course,  the 
educator  in  religion. 

Education,  then,  as  we  may  now  more  specifically  define  it,  is  the  train- 
ing carried  on  consciously  and  continuously  by  the  educator,  and  its  object 
is  to  convert  desultory  and  accidental  force  into  organized  action,  and  its 
ultimate  end  is  to  make  the  child  operated  on  by  it  capable  of  becoming  a 


542     OUTLINES  AND  NOTES   OF  BEADING   CIRCLE   WORK 

healthy,  intelligent,  moral,  and  religious  man ;  or  it  may  be  described  as 
the  systematization  of  all  the  influences  which  the  science  of  education 
recognizes  as  capable  of  being  employed  by  one  human  being  to  develop,  direct, 
and  maintain  vital  force  in  another,  with  a  view  to  the  formation  of  habits. 
This  conception  of  the  end  of  education  defines  the  function  of  the  edu- 
cator. He  has  to  direct  forces  already  existing  to  a  definite  object,  and  in 
proportion  as  his  direction  is  wise  and  judicious  will  the  object  be  secured. 

—  JOSEPH  PAYNE. 

To  prepare  us  for  complete  living  is  the  function  which  education  has  to 
discharge,  and  the  only  rational  mode  of  judging  of  an  educational  course  is 
to  judge  in  what  degree  it  discharges  such  function.  We  must  know  in 
what  way  to  treat  the  body ;  in  what  way  to  treat  the  mind ;  in  what  way 
to  manage  our  affairs ;  in  what  way  to  bring  up  a  family ;  in  what  way  to 
behave  as  a  citizen ;  in  what  way  to  utilize  those  sources  of  happiness  which 
nature  supplies  —  how  to  use  all  our  faculties  to  the  greatest  advantage  of 
ourselves  and  others.  .  .  . 

Happily  that  all-important  part  of  education  which  goes  to  secure  direct 
self-preservation  is  in  great  part  already  provided  for.  Too  momentous  to 
be  left  to  our  own  blundering,  nature  takes  it  into  her  own  hands. 

—  HERBERT  SPENCER. 

The  practical  farmer,  the  ingenious  mechanic,  the  talented  artist,  the 
upright  legislator  or  judge,  the  accomplished  teacher,  are  only  modifications 
or  varieties  of  the  original  man.  The  man  is  the  trunk ;  the  occupations 
and  professions  are  only  different  qualities  of  the  fruit  it  yields.  The  devel- 
opment of  the  common  nature,  the  cultivation  of  the  germs  of  intelligence, 
uprightness,  benevolence,  truth,  that  belongs  to  all  —  these  are  the  principle, 
the  aim,  the  end ;  while  special  preparation  for  the  field  or  the  shop,  for  the 
forum  or  the  desk,  for  the  land  or  the  sea,  are  but  incidents. 

—  HORACE  MANN. 

Under  the  old  system,  a  young  man's  education  was  incomplete  if  he  had 
not  a  passing  acquaintance  with  all  the  great  branches  of  human  knowledge. 
These  great  branches  were  so  limited  in  number,  and  so  imperfectly  devel- 
oped, that  fair  opportunity  was  given  the  student  of  acqxiainting  himself  in 
a  general  way  with  the  complete  range  of  subjects ;  that  is,  in  addition  to 
his  long  and  deep  draughts  at  the  classical  and  mathematical  fountains, 
which,  as  I  have  said,  were  good  chiefly  because  they  were  long  and  deep, 
he  could  take  a  short  sip  at  all  the  lesser  springs  of  knowledge  that  were 
flowing  within  his  reach.  So  that,  under  the  old  education,  the  holder  of 
an  academic  degree  might,  perhaps,  have  been  justly  regarded  as  deficient 
if  he  had  not  at  least  a  cursory  knowledge  of  all  the  recognized  branches  of 
human  learning. 


FRANQOIS  RABELAIS  543 

But  the  case  is  quite  different  now.  It  is  impossible  for  the  under- 
graduate to  make  the  complete  circuit  of  even  the  mountain  peaks  of  human 
knowledge,  much  more  to  dwell  long  enough  on  the  mountain  sides  and 
among  the  inviting  valleys  to  make  himself  fairly  acquainted  with  the  infi- 
nite variety  of  landscapes. 

Twenty-five  years  ago  it  would  have  been  a  reflection,  and  perhaps  justly 
so,  upon  a  college  curriculum  that  would  have*  made  it  possible  for  a  student 
to  take  the  academic  degree  without  a  general  knowledge  of  astronomy, 
chemistry,  physics,  botany,  geology,  and  zoology.  Is  it  so  now?  Twenty- 
five  years  ago  a  general  knowledge  of  astronomy  meant  a  very  definite 
thing,  and  could  be  obtained  in  a  term's  work.  But  what  do  you  mean 
to-day  by  a  general  knowledge  of  astronomy  ?  I  can  bring  together  a  large 
library  on  a  single  phase  of  astronomy,  say  sun  spots,  that  a  generation  ago 
was  tossed  off  on  one  short  page  or  in  one  unpretentious  paragraph,  besides 
book  after  book  on  other  phases,  say  the  physical  constitution  of  the  stars, 
that  were  then  unknown  and  unimagined.  What,  then,  do  you  mean  by  a 
general  knowledge  of  astronomy? 

The  science  has  grown  so  rapidly  within  the  past  generation  that  our  most 
eminent  astronomers  themselves  will  scarcely  claim  a  very  thorough  general 
knowledge  of  the  subject.  It  is  doubtful  whether  Professor  Young  himself 
can  name  all  the  constellations  at  sight;  whether  Professor  Langley  can 
bound  the  lunar  mountains;  whether  Professor  Newcomb  can  draw  a  map 
of  the  canals  of  Mars,  or  whether  Professor  Holden  knows  the  name  of  the 
latest  asteroid..  Yet  these  are  masters  in  astronomy,  and  in  some  lines  are 
acknowledged  authorities  on  both  sides  of  the  ocean.  A  general  knowledge 
of  astronomy  to-day  means  something  more  than  it  meant  a  generation  ago. 

If,  therefore,  a  diploma  be  incomplete  when  it  does  not  represent  astron- 
omy, what  particular  phase,  pray,  must  it  represent?  Shall  it  be  sun  spots? 
What,  then,  shall  become  of  Jupiter's  moons?  Shall  it  be  double  stars? 
What,  then,  of  meteors?  There  are  a  score  of  great  astronomical  lines 
which  one  must  follow,  if  he  would  have  only  a  fair  general  knowledge,  on 
each  of  which  he  could  profitably  spend  a  semester's  work.  Which  shall  it 
be  ?  And  if  any  one  in  particular,  has  not  each  of  the  remaining  nineteen 
an  equal  right  to  be  represented  in  a  diploma,  if  you  demand  that  the 
twentieth  shall  be  there  ? 

What  is  thus  true  of  astronomy  is  still  more  forcibly  true  in  some  of  the 
other  great  lines  of  science.  Some  of  these  sciences  have  been  born  within 
the  last  generation,  and  have  sprung  to  such  importance  as  to  demand  large 
libraries,  if  we  would  only  keep  abreast  the  progress  in  almost  any  one  of 
the  many  subordinate  branches.  The  lines  of  pursuit  are  so  numerous  that 
it  is  not  only  impossible  to  follow  them  all,  but  it  would  be  unwise  to 
attempt  to  follow  all  the  leading  highways. 

—  J.  P.  D.  JOHN. 


544     OUTLINES  AND  NOTES  OF  BEADING  CIRCLE   WOES 
ROGER  ASCHAM 

STUDIES 

General.  —  1.  Queen  Elizabeth  and  Lady  Jane  Grey  as 
pupils.  2.  Ascham's  public  services ;  his  influence  on  the 
English  language  ;  his  famous  books.  3.  English  spelling  in 
Ascham's  day ;  the  most  general  changes  which  it  has  since 
undergone.  4.  Ascham's  dinner  at  Windsor  Castle,  and  the 
subject  discussed  on  that  occasion.  5.  Sir  William  Peter's 
view  of  school  government ;  Ascham's  view  of  the  subject. 
6.  Ascham's  interview  with  Lady  Jane  Grey ;  her  account  of 
her  home  training.  7.  Ascham's  inductive  method  of  teaching 
the  classics ;  its  success  in  the  case  of  John  Whitney ;  its 
success  in  the  training  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  8.  Inductive  study 
of  the  classics  at  the  present  time. 

Pedagogical.  —  1.  The  effects  of  harsh  discipline  in  the 
school.  2.  The  inductive  method  of  teaching  languages. 
3.  The  pleasure  which  an  acquaintance  with  the  classics  affords 
to  the  student. 

NOTES 

A  sunny,  cheerful,  happy  spirit  wins  children's  hearts  more  surely  than 
words ;  and,  besides,  such  a  spirit  is  sure  to  awaken  cheerfulness  and  happi- 
ness in  return.  The  writer  once  visited  a  primary  school  in  charge  of 
a  cheerful,  sunny  teacher.  A  pupil  made  a  mistake  in  reading,  and  the 
teacher  endeavored  to  lead  the  child  to  see  and  correct  it.  Every  word  was 
accompanied  with  a  sweet,  assuring  smile,  which  not  only  put  the  child  at 
ease,  but  lit  up  her  face  with  happy  confidence. 

On  leaving  the  room,  a  friend  said  that  he  would  give  five  dollars  for  a 
picture  of  that  teacher  and  pupil  at  the  moment  of  the  latter's  success ; 
that  he  would  like  to  show  it  to  several  teachers  of  his  acquaintance,  who 
meet  every  mistake  with  a  frown.  How  many  teachers  have  the  habit  of 
talking  to  their  pupils  in  a  high-keyed,  sharp,  and  rasping  voice !  We 
never  enter  a  schoolroom  where  such  a  teacher  is  "  at  his  best "  without 
feeling  an  impulse  to  make  a  hasty  departure. 

—  EMERSON  E.  WHITE. 


ROGER  ASCHAM  545 

Some  evidently  think  that  little  more  than  the  rules  of  syntax  ought 
to  be  learned  from  Latin  text,  and  that  these  rules  of  syntax  can  best  be 
learned  from  detached  sentences  from  different  authors.  Others,  on  the 
contrary,  believe  that  syntax,  forms,  vocabulary,  word-order,  and,  in  fact, 
substantially  all  the  leading  facts  and  rules  of  the  language  should  be 
learned  from  the  language  itself,  and  that  the  pupil's  observation  during 
the  first  year  should  be  directed  to  one  connected  classical  work.  This 
may  be  called  the  stricter  inductive  method  upon  connected  text.  I  am  a 
firm  believer  in  the  latter  method. 

In  applying  it,  I  have  used  Caesar  as  the  connected  text,  because  he  is  the 
first  Latin  author  read  by  probably  nine  tenths  of  our  American  beginners, 
because  he  is  thoroughly  classical,  and  because  of  his  unity  and  simplicity, 
which  will  be  fully  brought  out  later  in  this  paper.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
all  our  introductory  books  are  professedly  preparatory  to  Caesar.  The  pupil 
takes  up  Caesar  on  his  first  day  of  study,  but  deals  with  the  text  in  a  manner 
essentially  different  from  that  adopted  by  one  who  has  studied  for  a  year. 

First,  but  a  small  portion  of  the  text  —  only  a  line  or  two  a  day  for  the 
first  few  days  —  is  assigned  at  a  time,  while  ample  practice  is  secured  by 
Latin-English  and  English-Latin  exercises  based  upon  this  text. 

Second,  the  teacher  in  advance  goes  over  the  text  to  be  assigned  for  the 
next  day  before  his  whole  class.  He  invites  observation  on  particular 
points,  insists  on  the  application  to  the  new  material  of  all  facts  previously 
learned,  and  draws  out  of  the  class,  or  himself  states,  all  essential  new  facts 
illustrated  in  the  new  material.  As  a  rule,  the  pupil  is  required  to  learn  no 
ending  and  no  rule  until  they  have  been  illustrated  in  the  text. 

Third,  the  pupil  is  required  to  go  over  the  same  text  again  and  again  by 
pronouncing  it  with  only  an  English  word-for-word  translation  (or  rather 
parallel)  before  the  eye. 

After  experience  with  the  non-inductive,  the  partial-inductive,  and  the 
stricter-inductive  methods,  I  find  that  the  latter  has  the  following  advantages 
over  one  or  both  of  the  others : 

First,  it  is  more  consistent  to  teach  'forms,  syntax,  and  vocabulary  induc- 
tively than  it  is  to  teach  only  the  syntax  in  this  way,  while  forms  and 
vocabulary  are  learned,  not  from  the  text,  but  from  artificial  tabulations. 
The  habit  of  independent  observation  cannot  be  formed  while  the  pupil  is 
neglecting  it  in  the  larger  half  of  his  work. 

A  second  advantage  arises  from  unity  of  subject-matter.  This  subject- 
matter,  if  we  take  Caesar,  is  the  product  of  one  author,  conspicuous  for  his 
simplicity  and  definiteness,  writing  upon  one  subject.  The  pupil  needs  to 
get  accustomed  to  but  one  set  of  peculiarities,  not  several,  as  he  has  to  do 
if  he  passes  from  a  fragment  of  one  author  to  a  fragment  of  another.  After 
getting  accustomed  to  his  author  and  the  subject,  he  can  anticipate  what 
is  coming  and  so  translate  rapidly. 
SCH.  IN  COM.  —  35 


546     OUTLINES  AND  NOTES  OF  BEADING   CIRCLE   WOES 

The  vocabulary  consists  of  terms  which  are  related  in  meaning,  and  so 
one  term  helps  to  recall  another.  Most  important  of  all,  the  unity  of  subject- 
matter  provides  for  a  proper  recurrence  of  words,  and  the  pupil  learns  the 
common  expressions,  not  so  much  by  the  repetition  of  vocabularies  of  isolated 
words  as  by  the  actual  work  of  translating  new  matter. 

In  this  way  the  advance  takes  care  of  the  review,  and  the  whole  desirable 
vocabulary  is  kept  going.  Those  who  have  noted  how  often,  in  our  first-year 
books,  desirable  words  introduced  in  one  lesson  are  not  repeated  for  many 
lessons,  if  at  all,  will  appreciate  this  advantage  of  connected  text.  It  is 
simply  impossible  for  any  author  to  write  upon  different  subjects  a  series 
of  disconnected  sentences  which  will  have  anything  like  the  unity  of  vocabu- 
lary which  any  author  unconsciously  uses  in  writing  upon  one  subject. 

Closely  connected  with  this  advantage  of  unity  is  the  further  advantage 
which  comes  from  the  limited  vocabulary  and  the  limited  variety  of  form 
and  syntax  which  Caesar  uses.  Let  me  speak  first  of  the  vocabulary.  Many 
teachers  do  not  realize  how  limited  the  vocabulary  of  Caesar  is.  A  list 
published  in  Latin  some  years  ago  shows  that  there  are  only  179  words  which 
occur  more  than  100  times  in  Caesar's  writings.  There  are  less  than  300  words 
which  occur  five  or  more  times  in  the  First  Book  of  the  Gallic  War,  and  in 
the  fifteen  pages  of  the  Helvetian  War  there  are  only  950  words  altogether. 
Even  in  the  first  chapter  of  the  First  Book,  while  there  are  181  forms,  there 
are  only  98  different  words,  or  54  per  cent  of  the  number  of  forms.  In  the 
second  chapter  the  percentage  of  new  words  to  the  whole  number  of  forms 
is  47,  in  the  third,  37,  in  the  fourth,  36.  In  the  fifteenth  the  percentage  has 
dropped  to  24,  in  the  sixteenth  to  22,  and  before  the  close  of  the  Helvetian 
War,  to  14.  That  is  to  say,  a  pupil  who  reads  properly  two  pages  of  Caesar 
will  need  to  look  up  only  one  word  in  three ;  and  one  who  reads  fifteen 
pages,  only  one  word  in  seven. 

The  method  of  study  which  I  have  outlined  depends  for  its  success,  like 
every  other,  upon  the  thoroughness  with  which  it  is  carried  out.  It  requires 
hard  work  on  the  part  of  pupil  and  teacher.  But  it  applies  this  work  where 
it  will  do  the  most  good,  incites  the  pupil's  interest  by  making  him  a  dis- 
coverer, and  so  makes  him  willing  to  work  hard. 

No  man  can  reach  the  highest  success  in  teaching  first-year  Latin  who 
does  not  appreciate  his  privilege  in  being  permitted  to  do  it.  It  is  a  high 
privilege  to  lead  a  pupil  into  his  first  language  besides  his  own,  to  see  the 
dawn  of  new  ideas  which  this  language  brings  and  the  increase  of  mental 
power  which  it  engenders.  The  difficulty  of  the  subject  puts  both  teacher 
and  pupil  on  their  mettle,  compels  the  teacher  to  think  clearly,  to  explain 
simply,  and  to  invent  devices  to  aid  his  teaching ;  it  develops  in  the  pupil 
moral  force  and  steady,  independent  effort,  and  in  both  the  good  teacher  and 
the  good  pupil  it  establishes  a  sympathy  and  respect  which  the  lapse  of 
years  will  not  destroy.  .  .IsAAC  B  BURGKSS. 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPEARE  547 


SECOND   MONTH,  pp.  45-126 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPEARE 

STUDIES 

General.  —  1.  Our  limited  knowledge  of  the  man  Shaks- 
peare.  2.  Reasons  for  the  obscurity  of  his  history.  3.  The 
known  facts  of  his  life.  4.  The  universality  of  his  genius. 
5.  Instances  of  his  lack  of  scholarship.  6.  The  appropriateness 
of  Shakspeare's  characters  to  their  real  or  supposed  time  and 
country.  7.  The  completeness  of  his  characters.  8.  The  dis- 
similarity and  personal  identity  of  his  characters.  9.  Illustra- 
tions of  the  change  in  the  meanings  of  words  since  Shakspeare's 
time.  10.  Shakspearian  critics  among  German,  English,  and 
American  writers.  11.  Shakspeare's  sole  educational  drama ; 
its  characterization  by  Dowden.  12.  Academies,  old  and  new  ; 
the  plan  of  King  Ferdinand.  13.  Description  of  various 
members  of  the  Academy  —  Longaville,  Dumain,  and  Biron. 

14.  The  rules  of  the  Academy,  and  how  they  were  regarded. 

15.  Pessimistic  views  of   study.     16.  Armado,  and  his  accom- 
plishments.    17.  Moth's  casuistry.     18.  Costard's  inductive  ac- 
quisition of  new  words.     19.  How  should  suitor  be  pronounced  ? 
20.  Hoi  of  ernes,  the  schoolmaster;  his  pedantry;  literary  trifling 
in  Elizabeth's  time.     21.  How  the  rules  of  the  Academy  were 
broken.     22.  Biron's  reformation  of  his  speech.     23.  The  exhi- 
bition at  the  Academy  ;  the  "  baiting  "  of  an  unpopular  school- 
master.    24.  Biron's  penance. 

Pedagogical.  —  1.  The  essential  error  in  the  plan  of  King 
Ferdinand.  2.  The  study  of  the  characters  of  students. 
3.  The  true  end  of  study.  4.  The  real  dignity  of  scholarship. 
5.  Dangers  of  inductive  study.  6.  The  true  sounds  of  the 
letter  u.  7.  The  pedantry  of  old-time  schoolmasters.  8.  The 
unpopular  schoolmaster. 


548     OUTLINES  AND  NOTES  OF  READING   CIRCLE   WORK 


NOTES 

There  goes  in  the  world  a  notion  that  the  scholar  should  be  a  recluse,  a 
valetudinarian,  —  as  unfit  for  any  handiwork  or  public  labor  as  a  penknife 
for  an  ax.  The  so-called  "  practical  men  "  sneer  at  speculative  men,  as  if, 
because  they  speculate  or  see,  they  could  do  nothing. 

I  have  heard  it  said  that  the  clergy  —  who  are  always,  more  universally 
than  any  other  class,  the  scholars  of  their  day  —  are  addressed  as  women ; 
that  the  rough,  spontaneous  conversation  of  men  they  do  not  hear,  but  only 
a  mincing  and  diluted  speech.  They  are  often  virtually  disfranchised ;  and, 
indeed,  there  are  advocates  for  their  celibacy.  As  far  as  this  is  true  of  the 
studious  classes,  it  is  not  just  and  wise. 

Action  is  with  the  scholar  subordinate,  but  it  is  essential.  Without  it, 
he  is  not  yet  man.  Without  it,  thought  can  never  ripen  into  truth.  Whilst 
the  world  hangs  before  the  eye  as  a  cloud  of  beauty,  we  cannot  even  see  its 
beauty.  Inaction  is  cowardice,  but  there  can  be  no  scholar  without  the 
heroic  mind.  The  preamble  of  thought,  the  transition  through  which  it 
passes  from  the  unconscious  to  the  conscious,  is  action. 

The  world,  —  this  shadow  of  the  soul,  or  other  me,  lies  wide  around.  Its 
attractions  are  the  keys  which  unlock  my  thoughts  and  make  me  acquainted 
with  myself.  I  run  eagerly  into  this  resounding  tumult.  I  grasp  the  hands 
of  those  next  me,  and  take  my  place  in  the  ring  to  suffer  and  to  woi'k, 
taught  by  an  instinct,  that  so  shall  the  dumb  abyss  be  vocal  with  speech. 

So  much  only  of  life  as  I  know  by  experience,  so  much  of  the  wilderness 
have  I  vanquished  and  planted,  or  so  far  have  I  extended  my  being,  my 
dominion.  I  do  not  see  how  any  man  can  afford,  for  the  sake  of  his  nerves 
and  his  nap,  to  spare  any  action  in  which  he  can  partake.  It  is  pearls 
and  rubies  to  his  discourse.  Drudgery,  calamity,  exasperation,  want,  are 
instructors  in  eloquence  and  wisdom.  The  true  scholar  grudges  every 
opportunity  of  action  passed  by,  as  a  loss  of  power. 

— RALPH  WALDO  EMEKSON. 

I  do  not  think  the  greatest  things  have  been  done  for  the  world  by  its 
bookmen.  Education  is  not  the  chips  of  arithmetic  and  grammar,  —  nouns, 
verbs,  and  the  multiplication  table ;  neither  is  it  that  last  year's  almanac  of 
dates  or  series  of  lies  agreed  upon,  which  we  so  often  mistake  for  history. 
Education  is  not  Greek  and  Latin  and  the  air-pump.  Still,  I  rate  at  its 
full  value  the  training  we  get  in  these  walls.  Though  what  we  actually 
carry  away  is  little  enough,  we  do  get  some  training  of  our  powers,  as  the 
gymnast  or  the  fencer  does  of  his  muscles;  we  go  hence  also  with  such 
general  knowledge  of  what  mankind  has  agreed  to  consider  proved  and 
settled,  that  we  know  where  to  reach  for  the  weapon  when  we  need  it. 

— WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 


FtfNELOtf  549 

FENELON 

STUDIES 

General. — 1.  A  world-famous  book,  the  TSUmaque ;  its 
sentimental  interest ;  its  influence  upon  methods  of  teaching 
geography  and  history  ;  its  suggestiveness  as  to  moral  training ; 
its  subject.  2.  The  career  of  Fe'nelon ;  his  royal  pupil.  3.  The 
success  of  his  teaching;  the  loss  to  the  world  in  the  death 
of  his  pupil.  4.  Magill's  characterization  of  Fe'nelon  as  an 
author.  5.  Principal  personages  of  the  T£l£maque  —  Mentor, 
Te'le'maque,  Calypso  ;  the  scene  of  the  story.  6.  Te'le'maque's 
shipwreck ;  Calypso's  grotto ;  her  infatuation  for  the  youth. 
7.  The  entertainment  of  the  Greek  youth.  8.  Mentor's  cau- 
tions. 9.  The  situation  in  Crete,  on  the  arrival  of  Te'le'maque 
and  Mentor.  10.  The  test  of  wrestling.  11.  The  test  of  the 
cestus.  12.  The  chariot  race.  13.  Teldmaque's  examination: 
What  man  is  most  free  ?  Who  is  most  unhappy  ?  Which  is  to 
be  preferred  —  a  ruler  great  in  war,  or  one  great  in  peace? 
14.  Te'le'maque's  temptation  at  Crete ;  his  renunciation  of  the 
throne.  15.  Te'le'maque's  temptation  at  Ogygia;  his  escape 
from  the  island. 

Pedagogical.  —  1.  The  use  of  narratives  in  teaching  geogra- 
phy. 2.  The  use  of  narratives  in  teaching  history.  3.  The 
use  of  narratives  in  teaching  morals.  4.  A  true  estimate  of 
success  in  life. 

NOTES 

It  is  as  impossible  to  draw  the  line  between  mental  and  moral  education, 
to  tell  where  one  leaves  off  and  the  other  begins,  in  the  work  of  the  teacher, 
as  it  is  to  determine  which  is  mind  and  which  is  matter  in  the  brain  of  the 
pupil.  Every  exercise  of  the  schoolroom,  every  particle  of  teaching,  involves 
on  the  part  of  the  child  one  or  more  of  the  three  divisions  of  a  moral  action, 
— viz.  comprehending,  choosing,  doing,  —  and  is  therefore  generating  power. 
This  power  may  be  used  either  morally  or  immorally,  and  the  greater  the 
amount  generated  the  greater  the  responsibility  of  the  teacher,  for  the 
clearer  the  comprehension  (if  divorced  from  right  choice  and  moral  action), 
the  greater  the  capacity  for  wrongdoing. 


550     OUTLINES  AND  NOTES  OF  BEADING  CIRCLE  WORK 

The  teacher,  then,  is  under  at  least  the  same  obligation  to  train  the  pupil 
to  love  the  good  and  do  the  right,  that  she  is  to  teach  him  to  think  clearly 
and  work  well.  In  order  to  do  this,  the  intellect  of  the  little  one  must  be 
developed  till  he  can  see  his  duty  plainly,  and  the  will  exercised  till  he  can 
do  it  cheerfully  and  unhesitatingly.  This  means  persistent  training  in  self- 
dependence  and  self-control,  and  an  education  in  all  the  virtues  by  means 
of  their  unremitting  exercise.  In  this,  as  in  every  other  thing,  the  child 
can  only  learn  to  do  by  doing,  and  all  reform  must  be  a  matter  of  growth. 

—  LELIA  E.  PATRIDGE. 

The  relation  of  geography  to  history  is  that  of  the  stage  to  the  plays 
acted  upon  it.  The  study  of  geography  is  the  study  of  the  earth  as  a  stage 
on  which  man  acts.  The  study  of  history  is  the  study  of  man's  actions  on 
this  stage.  In  studying  the  stage  we  may  observe  its  size,  its  formation  or 
structure,  embracing  its  surroundings,  adaptations,  and  adornments. 

—  JONATHAN  PIPER. 

Geography,  the  twin  sister  of  history,  has,  as  yet,  had  but  a  cold  recep- 
tion in  the  historical  family ;  only  about  one  half  the  schools  make  the 
study  what  it  should  be  —  an  essential  and  integral  part  of  the  study  of 
every  period.  Our  recommendation  on  this  subject  is  set  forth  in  Resolu- 
tion 25,  "That  the  study  of  history  should  be  constantly  associated  with 
the  study  of  topography  and  political  geography,  and  should  be  supple- 
mented by  the  study  of  historical  and  commercial  geography,  and  the  draw- 
ing of  historical  maps." 

This  resolution  suggests  three  directions  in  which  the  study  of  geography 
may  be  made  a  helpful  adjunct  to  history: 

In  the  first  place,  from  the  beginning  of  geographical  study,  attention 
should  be  paid  to  the  physical  outline  of  each  country,  not  only  with  refer- 
ence to  its  productions,  but  to  the  movement  of  races,  the  progress  of  settle- 
ment, and  establishment  of  centers  of  population.  For  instance,  it  should 
be  shown  how  the  commercial  greatness  of  Chicago  and  of  New  York 
depends  on  a  simple  fact  in  American  physical  geography  —  their  position  at 
the  head  and  foot  of  a  system  of  water  communication  ;  the  indented  coast 
of  New  England  should  suggest  how  thrifty  little  seaports  came  to  be  estab- 
lished there ;  the  relation  of  the  Vosges  Mountains  to  the  Alps  is  a  guide  to 
the  successive  migrations  of  nations  across  Europe.  From  the  beginning, 
the  teacher  should  attempt  to  connect  physical  geography  with  the  present 
political  condition  of  the  world;  and,  in  like  manner,  the  study  of  political 
geography  should  constantly  bring  in  the  physical  features. 

The  second  geographical  method  consists  in  putting  before  pupils,  for 
constant  use,  wall-maps  and  historical  atlases.  So  little  is  this  necessity 
understood,  that  in  no  civilized  country  are  good  and  cheap  maps  so  rare  ; 
and  our  school  atlases  are  notoriously  inferior  to  those  of  France  and  Ger- 


FtiNELON  551 

many.  In  the  use  of  maps,  good  or  bad,  there  is  an  opportunity  for  the  use 
of  judgment ;  a  mere  reference  to  a  place  on  a  map  on  which  the  surface 
shows  no  physical  relief  does  little  to  impress  its  position.  For  instance,  the 
important  geographical  fact  about  the  city  of  Rome  is  not  that  it  lay  in 
Latium,  rather  than  in  Etruria,  but  that  it  could  control  the  trade  of  the 
Tiber  valley,  and,  at  the  same  time,  was  so  far  inland  as  to  be  free  from 
attacks  of  pirates.  The  reason  for  its  growth  once  learned,  the  site  will 
never  be  forgotten.  An  excellent  system  in  class  is  for  a  pupil  to  follow  the 
recitation,  pointing  out  on  the  wall-map  the  places  as  they  are  mentioned  by 
the  reciter. 

A  third  and  very  efficient  method  of  geographical  training  is  the  use  of 
outline  maps.  "  We  buy  outlines,"  says  a  teacher,  "  and  strive  to  set  forth 
upon  them  as  many  subjects  as  lend  themselves  to  such  modes  of  represen- 
tation. I  should  be  at  loss,  without  them,  to  make  attractive  the  geography 
of  Greece,  with  its  multitude  of  new  names  so  hard  to  the  junior  mind,  the 
migrations,  the  different  eras  of  colonization,  etc.  But  with  maps  it  becomes 
very  pleasant  work.  Maps  are  also  especially  interesting  in  showing  the 
development  and  decay  of  the  Roman  empire,  and  the  rise  and  growth  of 
modern  nations.  ...  In  every  recitation  in  history  every  child  has  an  open 
atlas  upon  his  desk,  and  not  only  are  all  the  places  carefully  looked  up,  but 
the  effects  of  physical  environments  are  constantly  noted."  .  .  . 

We  urge  that  all  stages  and  in  all  parts  of  the  study  of  geography  the 
teacher,  rather  than  the  text-book,  should  lead  the  class.  A  good  text-book 
is  necessary  to  furnish  maps  and  other  material  of  study,  to  secure  concise- 
ness of  definition,  and  to  save  time  in  study,  after  a  proper  introduction  to 
its  texts  has  been  given  by  the  teacher ;  and  a  good  text-book  should  give  a 
better  presentation  of  the  subject  than  teachers  can  usually  be  expected  to 
command.  So,  also,  recitations  based  on  text-books  are  indispensable  in 
order  to  secure  precision  of  understanding  and  of  statement  on  the  part  of 
the  scholars.  But  every  stage  of  the  subject  should  be  naturally  introduced 
and  illustrated  by  the  teacher,  and  the  text-book  should  be  kept  in  its  proper 
place  as  an  aid  and  not  as  a  master,  and  mere  lesson-hearing  should  never 
be  allowed  to  replace  actual  teaching.  .  .  . 

The  habit  of  making  use  of  geographical  knowledge  in  all  studies  to 
which  it  is  applicable,  and  the  practice  of  constantly  locating  places  on 
maps,  should  be  encouraged.  In  all  reading,  especially  the  study  of  history, 
travels,  explorations,  and  other  treatises,  including  geographic  descriptions, 
the  places  mentioned  should  always  be  carefully  located.  .  .  . 

Topical  recitation  and  study  should  be  used  as  freely  as  practicable,  and 
the  subject  developed  by  comparison  of  observations,  by  discussions,  and  by 
readings  from  all  sources  available,  and  by  the  introduction  of  all  kinds  of 
illustration. 

— REPORT  OF  THE  COMMITTEE  OF  TEN. 


552     OUTLINES  AND  NOTES  OP  READING  CIRCLE  WORK 
JONATHAN   SWIFT 

STUDIES 

General.  —  1.  The  romance  of  Swift's  life;   his  early  years. 

2.  Swift's  political  career,  and  its  disappointments.     3.  Stella 
and  Vanessa,  and  their  unhappy  fate ;  the  mystery  of  Swift's 
life.     4.  Swift's  misanthropy ;  his  hatred  for  mankind,  as  mani- 
fested in  Gulliver's  Travels.  •  5.  The  flying  island  of  Laputa ; 
the  origin  of  its   name.     6.  The   singular   indirectness   of  its 
tailors  and  mechanics.     7.  The  causes  of  general  anxiety  among 
the  Laputans;  their  advances  in  astronomy;  their  remarkable 
conception  of  the  satellites  of  Mars.     8.  The  city  of  Lagado, 
and   its   population.      9.    Lord   Munodi,   and    his    experience. 
10.  The  Academy  at  Lagado ;  its  numerous  rooms ;  its  incep- 
tion.    11.   Extracting  sunbeams  from  cucumbers;    the  manu- 
facture of  gunpowder  from  ice ;  a  new  method  of  plowing ;  the 
substitution  of  cobwebs  for  silk;   other  projects.     12.  A  new 
method  of  learning  the  sciences.     13.  The  proposed  abolition 
of  words.     14.  The  Doctor's  governmental  projects.     15.  Gul- 
liver's account  of  the  Tribnians. 

Pedagogical.  —  1.  Illusive  etymologies.    2.  Borrowing  trouble. 

3.  Ultra  conservatism  in  education.     4.   Mechanical  teaching. 
5.   Object   teaching,   and  its   proper  limits.     6.   Impracticable 
and  useless  schemes  in  education. 

NOTES 

Almost  every  man,  in  whatever  vocation,  has  some  hobby,  some  "one  idea," 
which  he  pushes  forward  on  all  occasions,  no  matter  what  may  be  the  conse- 
quences. It  is  not  strange  that  it  is  often  thus  with  the  teacher.  If  the 
teacher  has  any  independence  of  mind,  any  originality,  he  will,  at  some 
period  in  life,  naturally  incline  to  try  some  experiments  in  teaching.  Partly 
on  account  of  the  novelty  of  the  plan,  and  partly  on  account  of  the  teacher's 
interest  in  the  success  of  his  own  measure,  he  finds  it  works  well  in  the  class 
where  it  was  first  tried ;  and  he  rejoices  that  he  has  made  a  discovery. 

Teaching  now  possesses  a  new  interest  for  him,  and  he  very  likely  be- 
comes enthusiastic.  He  applies  his  new  measure  to  other  classes,  and  loudly 


JONATHAN  SWIFT  553 

recommends  it  to  other  teachers.  For  a  time  it  succeeds,  and  it  becomes 
his  hobby.  Whenever  a  stranger  visits  his  school,  he  shows  off  his  new 
measure.  Whenever  he  attends  a  teachers'  meeting,  he  describes  it,  and 
perhaps  presents  a  class  of  his  pupils  to  verify  its  excellence. 

He  abandons  his  old  and  long-tried  plans,  and  persists  in  the  new  one. 
By  and  by  the  novelty  has  worn  away,  and  his  pupils  become  dull  under  its 
operation,  and  reason  suggests  that  a  return  to  the  former  methods  would 
be  advisable.  Still,  because  it  is  his  invention,  he  persists.  Others  try  the 
experiment.  Some  succeed ;  some  fail.  Some  of  them,  by  a  public  speech, 
commit  themselves  to  it,  and  then  persist  in  it  to  preserve  their  consistency. 
In  this  way  a  great  many  objectionable  modes  of  teaching  have  gained  cur- 
rency and  still  hold  their  sway  in  many  of  our  schools.  Let  it  be  remem- 
bered that  no  one  method  of  instruction  comprises  all  the  excellences  and 
avoids  all  the  defects  of  good  teaching;  and  that  he  is  the  wisest  teacher 
who  introduces  a  judicious  variety  into  his  modes  of  instruction,  profiting 
by  the  suggestions  of  others,  but  relying  mainly  upon  his  own  careful  obser- 
vation, eschewing  all  "patent  methods,"  and  never  losing  his  common  sense. 

Many  teachers  have  some  favorite  branch  of  study,  in  which,  because 
they  excel,  they  take  special  delight.  One  man  is  a  good  mathematician, 
another  is  an  expert  accountant,  a  third  a  skillful  grammarian.  Now,  the 
danger  is,  that  the  favorite  branch  of  study  may  become  the  hobby,  and  that 
the  other  branches  will  be  neglected. 

It  is  surely  to  the  discredit  of  teachers  that  they  are  so  readily  "  tossed 
to  and  fro,  and  carried  about  with  every  wind  of  doctrine,  by  the  slight  of 
men,  and  cunning  craftiness."  Growth  or  evolution  is  entirely  consistent 
with  moderation  and  stability.  To  know  what  we  should  grow  into,  we 
must  trace  our  route  into  the  future  by  the  light  of  educational  science ;  and 
that  there  may  be  perfect  continuity  of  growth,  we  must  know  the  past  and 
the  present  of  education. 

We  will  gain  sureness  and  stability  in  the  formation  of  our  opinions  by 
recollecting  that  a  course  of  practice  that  has  had  the  long  sanction  of  the 
wise  and  the  good  is  likely  to  have  a  large  measure  of  truth  in  it;  and  that 
"the  suppression  of  every  error  is  commonly  followed  by  a  temporary 
ascendency  of  the  contrary  one."  (Spencer.) 

Every  decade  has  its  educational  epidemic  made  possible  by  shallow 
thinking  and  a  chronic  discontent  with  things  as  they  are.  These  spas- 
modic efforts  at  reform  are  the  source  of  some  good  and  much  evil.  They 
call  attention  to  imperfections ;  but,  by  a  gross  exaggeration  of  defects,  they 
destroy  public  faith  in  what  is  good,  and,  by  the  show  of  false  lights,  betray 
the  cause  of  substantial  progress.  "  Progress,"  says  the  Dictionnaire  de  Peda- 
gogic, "is  not  a  force  that  acts  spasmodically,  but  is  a  logical  and  graduated 
evolution,  in  which  the  idea  of  to-day  is  connected  with  that  of  yesterday,  as 
the  latter  is  to  a  still  more  remote  past."  —DAVID  P.  PAGB. 


554     OUTLINES  AND  NOTES  OF  BEADING  CIRCLE   WORK 


THIRD  MONTH,  pp.  129-176 


ALEXANDER   POPE 

STUDIES 

General.  —  1.  The  precocity  of  Pope  in  his  childhood.  2.  His 
famous  translations.  3.  His  other  poems ;  his  style  ;  his  rank 
as  a  poet.  4.  Pope's  Dunciad ;  characteristics  of  the  poem. 

5.  The   Greater  Dunciad;  its  purpose  ;  its  value  to  the  cause 
of   education.      6.    Dulness,   and   her  court.      7.  The   address 
of  the  goddess.     8.  The  representative  of  schoolmasters,  and  his 
address ;   the  exact  reverse  of   Pestalozzian  teaching.     9.  The 
representative  of  the  universities,  and  his  address ;  educational 
trifles  and  triflers.     10.  The  goddess  addresses  the  universities. 
11.  The  "  black  blockade  "  of   university  men.     12.  A  youth 
ruined  by  travel  and  the  absence  of  all  restraints ;  his  gracious 
reception  by  the  goddess.     13.  Dealers  in  spurious  antiquities. 
14.  The  complaint  of  a  flower  specialist.     15.  The  reply  of  the 
butterfly  specialist.     16.  The  goddess'  address  to  the  specialists. 
17.    The  representative  of  the  Freethinkers.     18.   The  cup  of 
Magus.     19.  Degrees  conferred  by  the  goddess.     20.  The  god- 
dess' blessing.     21.  The  return  of  chaos. 

Pedagogical.  — 1.  An  education  in  words  only.  2.  The  magni- 
fying of  trifles  in  college  education.  3.  The  "  black  blockade  " 
of  the  universities.  4.  The  ruin  of  youths  by  the  removal  of  all 
restraints.  5.  The  danger  of  narrowness  incident  to  specialists. 

6.  The  great  triumphs  of  our  age  in  the  study  of  the  lower 
forms  of  life ;  their  value  to  mankind.    7.  The  abuse  of  college 
degrees. 

NOTES 

Words,  which  are  the  signs  of  things,  must  never  be  taught  the  child 
until  he  has  grasped  the  idea  of  the  thing  signified.  When  an  object  has 
been  submitted  to  his  senses,  he  must  be  led  to  the  consciousness  of  the 


ALEXANDER  POPE  555 

impressions  produced,  and  then  must  be  taught  the  name  of  the  object  and 
of  the  qualities  producing  those  impressions.     Last  of  all,  he  must  ascend 

to  the  definition  of  the  object. 

—  R.  H.  QUICK. 

Personal  experience  necessitates  the  advancement  of  the  learner's  mind 
from  the  near  and  actual,  with  which  he  is  in  contact,  and  which  he  can 
deal  with  himself,  to  the  more  remote ;  therefore,  from  the  concrete  to  the 
abstract,  from  particulars  to  generals,  from  the  known  to  the  unknown. 
This  is  the  method  of  elementary  education;  the  opposite  proceeding  — 
the  usual  proceeding  of  our  traditional  teaching  —  leads  the  mind  from  the 
abstract  to  the  concrete,  from  generals  to  particulars,  from  the  unknown 
to  the  known.  This  latter  is  the  scientific  method— a  method  suited  only  to 
the  advanced  learner,  who,  it  assumes,  is  already  trained  by  the  Elementary 
method. 

In  learning  by  the  Elementary  method,  we  begin  with  individual  things 
—  facts  or  objects.  From  these  we  gain  definite  ideas,  ideas  naturally 
related  to  the  condition  of  our  powers  or  of  our  knowledge,  as  being  the 
result  of  our  own  personal  experience.  Such  knowledge,  as  the  product  of 
our  own  efforts,  is  ours,  in  a  sense  in  which  no  knowledge  of  others  can  ever 
become  ours;  and,  being  ours,  serves  as  the  solid  basis  of  the  judgment  and 
inductions  that  we  are  able  to  form,  —  the  method  is  inductive  because  it 

begins  with  individual  facts. 

—  JOSEPH  PAYNE. 

The  popular  education  has  been  taxed  with  want  of  truth  and  nature. 
It  was  complained  that  an  education  to  things  was  not  given.  We  are 
students  of  words ;  we  are  shut  up  in  schools  and  colleges  and  recitation 
rooms  for  ten  or  fifteen  years,  and  come  out  at  last  with  a  bag  of  wind,  a 
memory  of  words,  and  do  not  know  a  thing.  We  cannot  use  our  hands  or 
our  legs  or  our  eyes  or  our  arms.  We  do  not  know  an  edible  root  in  the 
woods ;  we  cannot  tell  our  course  by  the  stars,  nor  the  hour  of  day  by  the 
sun.  It  is  well  if  we  can  swim  and  skate.  We  are  afraid  of  a  horse,  of  a 
cow,  of  a  dog,  of  a  snake,  of  a  spider. 

The  lessons  of  science  should  be  experimental  also.  The  sight  of  the 
planet  through  a  telescope  is  worth  all  the  course  on  astronomy ;  the  shock 
of  the  electric  spark  in  the  elbow  outvalues  all  the  theories ;  the  taste  of 
the  nitrous  oxide,  the  firing  of  an  artificial  volcano,  are  better  than  volumes 
of  chemistry. 

One  of  the  traits  of  the  new  spirit  is  the  inquisition  it  fixed  on  our 
scholastic  devotion  to  the  dead  languages.  The  ancient  languages,  with 
great  beauty  of  structure,  contain  wonderful  remains  of  genius,  which  draw, 
and  always  will  draw,  certain  like-minded  men  —  Greek  men  and  Roman 
men  — in  all  countries  to  their  study ;  but,  by  a  wonderful  drowsiness  of 
usage,  they  had  exacted  the  study  of  all  men. , 


OUTLINES  AND  NOTES  OF  HEADING   CIRCLE  WORK 

Once  (say  two  centuries  ago),  Latin  and  Gi*eek  had  a  strict  relation  to  all 
the  science  and  culture  there  was  in  Europe,  and  the  mathematics  had  a 
momentary  importance  at  some  era  of  activity  in  physical  science.  These 
things  became  stereotyped  as  education,  as  the  manner  of  men  is.  But  the 
Good  Spirit  never  cared  for  the  colleges;  and  though  all  men  and  boys 
were  now  drilled  in  Latin,  Greek,  and  mathematics,  it  had  quite  left  these 
shells  high  and  dry  on  the  beach,  and  was  now  creating  and  feeding  other 
matters  at  other  ends  of  the  world.  But  in  a  hundred  high  schools  and 
colleges  this  warfare  against  common  sense  still  goes  on.  Four  or  six  or 
ten  years,  the  pupil  is  parsing  Greek  and  Latin,  and  as  soon  as  he  leaves 
the  University,  as  it  is  ludicrously  called,  he  shuts  those  books  for  the  last 
time.  .  .  . 

It  appears  that  some  doubt  is  felt  by  good  and  wise  men  whether  really 
the  happiness  and  probity  of  men  is  increased  by  the  culture  of  the  mind  in 
those  disciplines  to  which  we  give  the  name  of  education.  Unhappily,  too, 
the  doubt  comes  from  scholars,  from  persons  who  have  tried  these  methods. 
In  their  experience,  the  scholar  was  not  raised  by  the  sacred  thoughts  among 
which  he  dwelt,  but  used  them  to  selfish  ends.  He  was  a  profane  person, 
and  became  a  showman,  turning  his  gifts  to  a  marketable  use  and  not  to  his 
own  sustenance  and  growth. 

It  was  found  that  the  intellect  could  be  independently  developed  —  that  is, 
in  separation  from  the  man  —  as  any  single  organ  can  be  invigorated;  and  the 
result  was  monstrous.  A  canine  appetite  for  knowledge  was  generated, 
which  must  still  be  fed,  but  was  never  satisfied;  and  this  knowledge,  not 
being  directed  on  action,  never  took  the  character  of  substantial,  humane 
truth,  blessing  those  whom  it  entered.  It  gave  the  scholar  certain  powers  of 
expression,  the  power  of  speech,  the  power  of  poetry,  of  literary  art,  but  it 

did  not  bring  him  to  peace  or  to  beneficence. 

—  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

Can  it  be  possible,  you  ask,  that  the  study  of  botany  will  give  as  much 
and  as  high  an  order  of  culture  as  the  study  of  Latin?  That  depends 
wholly  upon  how  and  with  what  continuity  botany  and  Latin  are  studied. 
If  you  put  one  term  of  Latin  against  six  years  of  botany,  the  question  will 
answer  itself.  Equally  so  if,  as  in  the  Old  Education,  you  put  one  term  of 
botany  against  six  years  of  Latin.  Or  if  you  put  botany  taught  by  a  text- 
book against  Latin  taught  by  a  living  man,  the  question  is  easily  answered. 

What  the  New  Education  assumes  to  answer  is  this  :  Is  botany,  geology, 
or  chemistry,  when  rightly  taught,  as  efficient  a  means  of  culture  as  an  equal 
amount  of  Latin,  Greek,  or  mathematics  rightly  taught?  And  it  answers 
this  question  unqualifiedly  and  unhesitatingly  in  the  affirmative.  It  is  not 
claimed  that  the  culture  is  identical  in  each  instance,  but  it  is  claimed  that 
the  culture  is  equally  real  in  all  these  cases. 

— J.  P.  D.  JOHN. 


AENAUD    BEBQUIN  557 

ARNAUD   BERQUIN 

STUDIES 

General.  —  1.   Berquin's   service  to  the  children   of  France. 

2.  The  distinguished  honor  conferred  on  Berquin  by  the  French 
Academy.     3.  Berquin's  appointment  to  the  royal  tutorship; 
his  'death,  before   the   bursting   of  the   Revolutionary   storm. 
4.  The  light  character  of  Berquin's  comedies;   their  influence 
upon  the  character  of  the  young.     5.  The  use  of  U  Education 
a  la  Mode  as  an  exercise  in  translation.     6.  Personages  of  the 
play.     7.  The  training  of  Le'onor.     8.  The  training  of  Didier. 

9.  The    influence    of    their   training    upon    their    characters. 

10.  The    training    of    the     daughters    of     Didier's    teacher. 

11.  The  indulgent  aunt.     12.  The  change  wrought  in  Le'onor. 
13.  "Frenchy"  characteristics   of  the  play.     14.  Glimpses   of 
school  life  at  the  Pensions;  school  education  compared  with 
education  conducted  wholly  at  home.     15.  The  moral  of  the 
drama ;  its  application  at  the  present  day. 

Pedagogical.  —  1.  The  necessity  for  wholesome  juvenile  lit- 
erature. 2.  What  constitutes  a  proper  education  for  girls? 

3.  The   education   of  the   sexes   in   separate   schools.     4.  The 
baneful  effects  of  over-indulgence  of  children  at  home. 

NOTES 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  each  generation  opens  new  careers  of  usefulness 
to  woman,  many  of  which  she  has  adorned,  and  which  it  is  honorable  in  her 
to  pursue,  it  is  nevertheless  true  that  woman's  kingdom  is  preeminently 
the  home. 

Any  thorough  course  of  instruction  in  household  matters  is  a  preparation 
for  the  ordinary  life-work  of  a  woman,  whatever  her  station.  There  is 
scarcely  any  sphere  of  activity  into  which  she  can  enter  where  the  knowl- 
edge of  some  part  at  least  of  household  duties  will  not  materially  assist  her. 

It  is  of  the  highest  importance,  especially  at  this  time,  when  so  many 
false  ideas  on  the  subject  prevail,  that  our  young  girls  should  realize  the 
fact  that  there  is  nothing  degrading  in  household  work  or  in  domestic 
service. 


558     OUTLINES  AND  NOTES  OF  READING   CIRCLE   WORK 

A  distinguished  woman  has  well  expressed  this  idea  in  the  following 
paragraph : 

"  The  wrongly-educated  woman  thinks  her  duties  a  disgrace,  and  frets 
under  them  or  shirks  them  if  she  can.  She  sees  man  triumphantly  pursu- 
ing his  vocations,  and  thinks  it  is  the  kind  of  work  he  does  which  makes 
him  regnant ;  whereas  it  is  not  the  kind  of  work  at  all,  but  the  way  in  which 
and  the  spirit  with  which  he  does  it." 

This  mistake  leads  young  women  to  devote  time  and  energy  exclusively 
to  what  are  termed  the  higher  branches  of  education.  In  doing  this  they 
neglect  the  lowlier,  but  not  less  noble,  study  of  domestic  science,  and  so 
enter  upon  life  unprepared  for  the  duties  that  usually  await  them. 

Such  neglect  cannot  be  too  greatly  deplored.  The  time  spent  in  acquir- 
ing a  knowledge  of  domestic  science  is  never  in  vain  if  it  enables  women  to 
attend  wisely  and  faithfully  to  what  is  necessary  to  the  comfort  and  happi- 
ness of  home. 

It  is  desirable,  therefore,  that  every  woman  should  acquire  a  thorough 
knowledge  of  domestic  economy.  .  .  . 

"  She  looketh  well  to  the  ways  of  her  household,"  —  words  that  the  wise 
man  coupled  with  prosperity  and  honor,  —  still  promise  the  same  blessing 
upon  the  faithful  performance  of  those  duties  which,  as  part  of  woman's 

inheritance,  we  may  not  put  aside. 

— PREFACE  TO  HOUSEHOLD  ECONOMY. 

Everything  that  is  called  fashion  and  courtesy  humbles  itself  before  the 
cause  and  fountain  of  honor,  creator  of  titles  and  dignities,  namely,  the 
heart  of  love.  This  is  the  royal  blood,  this  the  fire,  which,  in  all  countries 
and  contingencies,  will  work  after  its  kind  and  conquer  and  expand  all  that 
approaches  it.  This  gives  new  meanings  to  every  fact.  This  impoverishes 
the  rich,  suffering  no  grandeur  but  its  own.  What  is  rich  ?  .  .  .  Without 
the  rich  heart  wealth  is  but  a  beggar.  The  king  of  Schiraz  could  not  afford 
to  be  so  bountiful  as  the  poor  Osman  who  dwelt  at  his  gate. 

— RALPH  WALDO  EMEKSON. 

Social  science  affirms  that  woman's  place  in  society  marks  the  level  of 
civilization.  From  its  twilight  in  Greece,  through  the  Italian  worship  of 
the  Virgin,  the  dreams  of  chivalry,  the  justice  of  the  civil  law,  and  the 
equality  of  French  society,  we  trace  her  gradual  recognition ;  while  our 
common  law,  as  Lord  Brougham  confessed,  was,  with  relation  to  women, 
the  opprobrium  of  the  age  and  of  Christianity.  For  forty  years,  plain  men 
and  women,  working  noiselessly,  have  washed  away  that  opprobrium;  the 
statute  books  of  thirty  states  have  been  remodeled,  and  woman  stands 
to-day  almost  face  to  face  with  her  last  claim,  —  the  ballot. 

—  WENDELL, 


COLMAN   THE   YOUNGER  559 


FOUETH   MONTH,  pp.  179-256 


COLMAN   THE  YOUNGER 

STUDIES 

General.  —  1.  Colman  the  Elder,  and  his  career.  2.  The 
education  of  Colman  the  Younger;  his  writings;  his  success 
as  a  dramatist.  3.  Colman's  dramatic  masterpieces.  4.  The 
sudden  change  in  Daniel  Dowlas's  fortunes.  5  .  The  efforts 
of  the  pseudo  Lord  and  Lady  Duberly  to  appear  at  ease  in 
their  new  station.  6.  Dr.  Pangloss,  and  his  accomplishments. 

7.  The   effect   upon   Dick   Dowlas   of  the   sudden   elevation. 

8.  Dick's  idea  of  the  requisites  of  a  "  modern  fine  gentleman." 

9.  Dick's  control  of  Dr.  Pangloss. 

Pedagogical.  —  1.  The  impossibility  of  making  up,  in  later 
life,  the  lack  of  cultured  training  in  youth.  2.  The  use  of 
classical  quotations,  and  the  index  which  they  afford  to  a 
desirable  acquaintance  with  the  classics.  3.  False  notions  of 
life  acquired  by  the  children  of  the  wealthy  in  society.  4.  The 
teacher's  actuating  motive.  5.  A  teacher's  lack  of  true  dignity 
and  force  of  character.  6.  A  teacher's  duplicity. 

NOTES 

Would  you  your  son  should  be  a  sot  or  dunce, 
Lascivious,  headstrong,  or  all  these  at  once ; 
That,  in  good  time,  the  stripling's  finished  taste 
For  loose  expense  and  fashionable  waste 
Should  prove  your  ruin,  and  his  own  at  last, 
Train  him     .     .     .     with  a  mob  of  boys, 
Childish  in  mischief  only  and  in  noise, 
Else  of  a  mannish  growth,  and,  five  in  ten, 
In  infidelity  and  lewdness,  men. 
There  shall  he  learn,  ere  sixteen  winters  old, 
That  authors  are  most  useful  pawned  or  sold ; 


560     OUTLINES  AND  NOTES   OF  BEADING   CIRCLE   WORK 

That  pedantry  is  all  that  schools  impart, 
But  taverns  teach  the  knowledge  of  the  heart ; 
There  waiter  Dick,  with  bacchanalian  lays, 
Shall  win  his  heart,  and  have  his  drunken  praise, 
His  counselor  and  bosom  friend  shall  prove. 


Like  caterpillars  dangling  under  trees 
By  slender  threads,  and  swinging  in  the  breeze, 
Which  filthily  bewray  and  sore  disgrace 
The  boughs  in  which  are  bred  the  unseemly  race, 
While  every  worm  industriously  weaves 
And  winds  his  web  about  the  riveled  leaves ; 
So  numerous  are  the  follies-  that  annoy 
The  mind  and  heart  of  every  sprightly  boy  — 
Imaginations  noxious  and  perverse, 
Which  admonition  can  alone  disperse. 
The  encroaching  nuisance  asks  a  faithful  hand, 
Patient,  affectionate,  of  high  command, 
To  check  the  procreation  of  a  breed 
Sure  to  exhaust  the  plant  on  which  they  feed. 

'Tis  not  enough  that  Greek  or  Roman  page, 
At  stated  hours,  his  freakish  thoughts  engage. 
E'en  in  his  pastimes  he  requires  a  friend 
To  warn,  and  teach  him  safely  to  unbend ; 
O'er  all  his  pleasures  gently  to  preside, 
Watch  his  emotions,  and  control  their  tide ; 
And  levying  thus,  and  with  an  easy  sway, 
A  tax  of  profit  from  his  very  play, 
To  impress  a  value,  not  to  be  erased, 
On  moments  squandered  else,  and  running  all  to  waste. 

—  WILLIAM  COWPKR. 

With  all  the  attachment  which  young  pupils  will  cherish  even  toward  a 
bad  teacher,  and  with  all  the  confidence  they  will  repose  in  him,  who  can 
describe  the  mischief  which  he  can  accomplish  in  one  short  term  ?  The 
school  is  no  place  for  a  man  without  principle.  Let  such  a  man  seek  a 
livelihood  anywhere  else ;  or,  failing  to  gain  it  by  other  means,  let  starvation 
seize  the  body,  and  send  the  soul  back  to  its  Maker  as  it  is,  rather  than  that 
he  should  incur  the  fearful  guilt  of  poisoning  youthful  minds  and  dragging 
them  down  to  his  own  pitiable  level.  If  there  can  be  one  sin  greater  than 
another,  on  which  Heaven  frowns  with  more  awful  displeasure,  it  is  that 


COLMAN   THE   YOUNGER  561 

of  leading  the  young  into  principles  of  error,  and  the  debasing  practices 

of  vice. 

"  O  woe  to  those  who  trample  on  the  mind, 
That  deathless  thing !     They  know  not  what  they  do, 
Nor  what  they  deal  with.     Man,  perchance,  may  bind 
The  flower  his  step  hath  bruised ;  or  light  anew 
The  torch  he  quenches ;  or  to  music  wind 
Again  the  lyre-string  from  his  touch  that  flew ;  — 
But  for  the  soul,  O  tremble  and  beware 
To  lay  rude  hands  upon  God's  mysteries  there." 

—  DAVID  P.  PAGE. 

It  is  not  sufficient  that  instructors  be  competently  skillful  in  those  sciences 
which  they  profess  and  teach ;  but  they  should  have  skill  also  in  the  art  or 
method  of  teaching,  and  patience  in  the  practice  of  it. 

It  is  a  great  unhappiness  indeed,  when  persons  by  a  spirit  of  party  or 
faction  or  interest,  or  by  purchase,  are  set  up  for  tutors,  who'  have  neither 
due  knowledge  of  science  nor  skill  in  the  way  of  communication.  And 
alas,  there  are  others  who,  with  all  their  ignorance  and  insufficiency,  have 
self-admiration  and  effrontery  enough  to  set  up  themselves ;  and  the  poor 
pupils  fare  accordingly,  and  grow  lean  in  their  understandings. 

And  let  it  be  observed  also,  that  there  aie  some  very  learned  men  who 
know  much  themselves,  but  have  not  the  talent  of  communicating  their  own 
knowledge,  or  else  they  are  lazy  and  will  take  no  pains  at  it.  Either  they 
have  an  obscure  and  perplexed  way  of  talking,  or  they  show  their  learning 
uselessly,  and  make  a  long  periphrasis  on  every  word  of  the  book  they 
explain,  or  they  cannot  condescend  to  young  beginners,  or  they  run  presently 
into  the  elevated  parts  of  the  science,  because  it  gives  themselves  greater 
pleasure,  or  they  are  soon  angry  and  impatient,  and  cannot  bear  with  a  few 
impertinent  questions  of  a  young,  inquisitive,  and  sprightly  genius,  or  else 
they  skim  over  a  science  in  a  very  slight  and  superficial  survey,  and  never 
lead  their  disciples  into  the  depth  of  it. 

A  good  tutor  should  have  characters  and  qualifications  very  different 
from  all  these.  He  is  such  a  one  as  both  can  and  will  apply  himself  with 
diligence  and  concern  and  indefatigable  patience  to  effect  what  he  under- 
takes; to  teach  his  disciples  ami  see  what  they  learn  ;  to  adapt  his  way  and 
method,  as  near  as  may  be,  to  the  various  dispositions  as  well  as  to  the 
capacities  of  those  whom  he  instructs,  and  to  inquire  often  into  their  progress 
and  improvement.  And  he  should  take  particular  care  of  his  own  temper 
and  conduct,  that  there  be  nothing  in  him  or  about  him  which  may  be  of 
ill  example ;  nothing  that  may  savor  of  a  haughty  temper,  or  a  mean  and 
sordid  spirit;  nothing  that  may  expose  him  to  the  aversion  or  to  the  con- 
tempt of  his  scholars. 

—  ISAAC  WATTS. 

SCH.  IN  COM. — 36 


562     OUTLINES  AND  NOTES  OF  BEADING   CIRCLE    WORK 
MARIA   EDGEWORTH 

STUDIES 

General.  —  1.  The  rank  of  Maria  Edge  worth  as  an  author. 
2.  Miss  Edge  worth's  father,  and  her  cooperation  with  him;  the 
life  of  the  Edgeworths  in  Ireland.  3.  The  influence  of  Miss 
Edgeworth's  books  upon  society ;  the  general  tenor  of  her 
writings ;  her  best  works.  4.  A  pleasing  scene  of  child  life  in 
the  country.  5.  A  supercilious  youth  from  the  city.  6.  A 
scene  in  the  old-time  Dame  school.  7.  A  haughty  young  mis- 
tress, and  her  maid.  8.  A  conspiracy  of  youthful  malcontents, 
and  its  frustration.  9.  The  character  of  the  Dame ;  her  dress. 
10.  The  Dame's  quiet  control  of  her  pupils ;  her  confidence  in 
their  integrity.  11.  The  effects  of  city  life  upon  Felix  and 
Miss  Babberly.  12.  Miss  Edgeworth's  characteristic  contrasts 
illustrated  in  this  drama. 

Pedagogical.  —  1.  The  simplicity  of  the  old  Dame  schools; 
their  influence  in  the  development  of  character.  2.  The  influ- 
ence of  "  fast "  city  life  upon  the  young.  3.  Characteristic 
courtesy  shown  by  Old  World  children  to  the  aged. 

NOTES 

God  help  us  to  realize  that  there  is  something  else  to  be  accomplished  in 
our  schoolrooms  besides  intellectual  acquirements  and  mental  discipline. 

—  EvA  D.  KELLOGG. 

Oh,  thank  God,  all  who  see  it,  for  that  older  fashion  yet,  of  immor- 
tality. And  look  upon  us,  angels  of  young  children,  with  regards  not  quite 

estranged,  when  the  swift  river  bears  us  to  the  ocean. 

— CHARLES  DICKENS. 

"  Nothing,"  says  John  Locke,  "  sinks  so  gently  and  so  deep  into  men's 
minds  as  examples  " ;  and  this  is  particulai'ly  true  in  childhood.  Right  feel- 
ings are  awakened  by  presenting  appropriate  examples  as  excitants  to  the 
mind.  The  feelings  are  not  subject  to  orders.  They  do  not  come  or  go  at 
one's  bidding,  and  they  are  not  responsive  to  abstract  statements  of  duty. 
They  are  occasioned  by  the  presence  of  some  mental  conception  or  image 
adapted  to  awaken  them,  and  these  occasions  may  be  the  actual  seeing  of  the 


MARIA   EDGEWOETH  563 

exciting  object  or  its  apprehension  when  presented  to  the  mind  by  means 
of  language  or  illustration. 

The  moral  judgment  is  also  best  trained  by  comparing  the  ethical  quali- 
ties of  actions  presented  concretely,  just  as  the  power  to  discriminate  colors 
is  developed  by  observing  colored  objects.  A  theoretical  knowledge  of  duty 
may  be  gained  by  the  study  of  ethics  as  a  science ;  but  the  wise  application 
of  such  knowledge  in  one's  own  conduct  requires  moral  judgment  —  the 
power  to  discern  duty  under  particular  and  often  unique  conditions  and 
circumstances.  Acute  moral  discernment  and  a  quick  conscience  are  more 
important  in  youth  than  abstract  ethical  knowledge. 

The  principle  that  all  primary  ideas  must  be  taught  objectively  is  no  truer 
in  teaching  natural  science  than  in  teaching  duty.  The  primary  facts  of 
science  may  be  early  acquired  by  observation,  but  science  proper  must 
be  deferred  until  a  later  period  in  the  child's  mental  development  —  the 
so-called  scientific  phase.  The  same  is  true  in  moral  instruction.  The 
feelings,  the  conscience,  and  the  moral  judgment  are  not  only  best  reached 
by  concrete  examples  of  conduct,  but  clear  moral  ideas  are  thus  taught. 

—  EMERSON  E.  WHITE. 

The  precept  of  the  teacher  may  do  much  toward  teaching  the  child  his 
duty  to  God,  to  himself,  and  to  his.  fellow-beings.  But  it  is  not  mainly  by 
precept  that  this  is  to  be  done.  Sermons  and  homilies  are  but  little  heeded 
in  the  schoolroom  ;  and  unless  the  teacher  has  some  other  mode  of  reaching 
the  feelings  and  the  conscience,  he  may' despair  of  being  successful  in  moral 
training. 

The  teacher  should  be  well  versed  in  human  nature.  He  should  .know 
the  power  of  conscience  and  the  means  of  reaching  it.  He  should  himself 
have  deep  principle.  His  example  in  everything  before  his  school  should  be 
pure,  flowing  out  from  the  purity  of  his  soul.  He  should  ever  manifest  the 
tenderest  regard  to  the  law  of  right  and  of  love.  He  should  never  violate 
his  own  sense  of  justice,  nor  outrage  that  of  his  pupils.  Such  a  man  teaches 
by  his  example.  He  is  a  "  living  epistle,  known  and  read  of  all."  He 
teaches,  while  he  goes  in  and  out  before  the  school,  as  words  can  never  £each. 

The  moral  feelings  of  children  are  capable  of  systematic  and  successful 
cultivation.  "  The  more  frequently  we  use  our  conscience,"  says  Dr.  Wayland, 
"  in  judging  between  actions,  as  right  and  wrong,  the  more  easily  shall  we 
learn  to  judge  correctly  concerning  them.  He  who,  before  every  action, 
will  deliberately  ask  himself,  '  Is  this  right  or  wrong  ? '  will  seldom  mistake 
what  is  his  duty.  And  children  may  do  this  as  well  as  grown  persons." 
Let  the  teacher  appeal  as  often  as  may  be  to  the  pupil's  conscience.  In  a 
thousand  ways  can  this  be  done,  and  it  is  a  duty  the  faithful  teacher  owes 

to  his  scholars. 

—  DAVID  P.  PAGE. 


564     OUTLINES  AND  NOTES  OF  READING   CIRCLE    WORK 


FIFTH  MONTH,  pp.  257-298 


EUGENE  SCRIBE 

STUDIES 

General.  —  1.  Light  forms  of  comedy  in  favor  at  the  present 
day ;  vaudevilles.  2.  The  most  popular  playwright  of  France  ; 
his  industry ;  his  character.  3.  The  personages  of  the  two 
preceptors.  4.  An  alliance  formed  against  the  new  governor. 
5.  The  training  of  French  youths  in  the  old  time,  compared 
with  that  of  the  present  day.  6.  The  teacher  of  the  primary 
school ;  his  mannerism ;  his  disappointment.  7.  A  bold  scheme 
of  a  charlatan  ;  the  charlatan's  idea  of  the  essentials  of  a  teacher. 

8.  The    impostor's  tact ;    how  he  maintained  a   "  learned   dis- 
cussion " ;   how  he  succeeded  in  imposing  upon  his  employer. 

9.  The  impostor's  degradation.    -10.  The  impostor's  contempt 
for  the  teacher  of  the  primary  school,  as  a  fellow-charlatan. 

Pedagogical.  —  1.  The  avoidance  of  mannerism  on  the  part 
of  a  teacher.  2.  The  occasional  success  of  educational  charlatans 
in  deceiving  their  employers.  3.  The  liability  of  uneducated 
but  influential  people  to  imposition  by  charlatans  and  impostors. 
4.  The  punishment  which  awaits  pretenders  in  education. 

NOTES 

The  teacher  should  go  to  his  duty  full  of  his  work.  He  should  be  im- 
pressed with  its  overwhelming  importance.  He  should  feel  that  his  mistakes, 
though  they  may  not  speedily  ruin  him,  may  permanently  injure  his  pupils. 
Nor  is  it  enough  that  he  shall  say,  "  I  did  it  ignorantly."  He  has  assumed 
to  till  a  place  where  ignorance  itself  is  a  sin ;  and  where  indifference  to  the 
well-being  of  others  is  equivalent  to  willful  homicide.  He  might  as  inno- 
cently assume  to  be  the  physician,  and,  without  knowing  its  effects,  prescribe 
arsenic  for  the  colic.  Ignorance  is  not  in  such  cases  a  valid  excuse,  because 
the  assumption  of  the  place  implies  a  pretension  to  the  requisite  skill. 

Let  the  teacher,  then,  well  consider  what  manner  of  spirit  he  is  of.  Let 
him  come  to  this  work  only  when  he  has  carefully  pondered  its  nature  and 


EUGENE  SCRIBE  565 

its  responsibilities,  and  after  he  has  devoted  his  best  powers  to  a  thorough 
preparation  of  himself  for  its  high  duties.  Above  all,  let  him  be  sure  that 
his  motives  on  entering  the  schoolroom  are  such  as  will  be  acceptable  in  the 
sight  of  God,  when  viewed  by  the  light  beaming  out  from  His  throne. 

"O  let  not,  then,  unskillful  hands  attempt 
To  play  the  harp  whose  tones,  whose  living  tones, 
Are  left  forever  in  the  strings.     Better  far 
That  heaven's  lightnings  blast  his  very  soul, 
And  sink  it  back  to  Chaos'  lowest  depths, 
Than  knowingly,  by  word  or  deed,  he  send 
A  blight  upon  the  trusting  mind  of  youth." 

—  DAVID  P.  PAGE. 

The  most  important  factor  in  any-  school,  or  system  of  education,  is  the 
teacher  who  directs  its  daily  operations.     Let  us,  then,  consider  some  of  the 
things  belonging  to  a  good  teacher.     And  we  will  begin  by  asking.  What  are 
the  proper  motives  to  prompt  him  to  take  up  this  work  ?     We  will  mention  >, 
three  :  a  desire  to  do  good,  a  love  for  the  work,  and  money. 

It  is  no  easy  matter  to  estimate  the  money  value  of  a  good  teacher's 
services.  Some  one  has  said  that  the  world's  work  may  be  divided  into  two 
kinds,  viz.,  job-work  and  professional  work.  The  first  is  work  that  has  to  do 
with  material  things  only;  its  value  is  easily  computed ;  and  as  its  benefit 
can  be  exactly  measured  in  money,  so  can  its  compensation.  But  profes- 
sional work  has  to  do  with  things  that  cannot  be  measured  in  money.  Who 
can  tell  the  value  of  the  physician's  services  when  he  saves  the  life  of  a 
friend,  or  of  a  minister's  if  he  leads  one  up  to  a  higher  moral  and  religious 
plane  of  life,  or  of  the  artist's  when  he  cultivates  and  gratifies  our  aesthetic 
nature?  If  such  work  be  good,  money  cannot  measure  it;  if  it  be  poor, 
it  is  worthless,  or  worse.  The  work  of  the  true  teacher  must  be  classed  as 
professional  work.  No  one  can  tell  just  how  many  dollars  a  month  will  be 

an  equivalent  for  it. 

—  EDWIN  C.  HEWETT. 

"  Teaching,"  says  Mr.  Fitch,  "  is  the  noblest  of  all  professions,  but  it  is 
the  sorriest  of  trades."  In  all  times  and  in  all  countries,  teaching  has  been, 
for  the  most  part,  a  trade;  but  the  spirit  of  this  age  is  now  calling  the 
teacher  to  a  higher  plane  of  thinking  and  acting.  Each  step  in  civilization 
requires  that  men  should  work  with  sharper  tools.  From  age  to  age  men 
must  work  more  rapidly  and  more  surely.  The  sailing  vessel  once  answered 
very  well  for  transatlantic  communication,  and  the  stagecoach  for  transcon- 
tinental travel ;  but  this  new  age  1'equires  an  ocean  steamer  that  will  pass 
from  continent  to  continent  within  seven  days,  and  a  rail-car  that  will  take 
us  across  the  continent  almost  at  the  rate  at  which  a  bird  can  fly. 

—  WILLIAM  H.  PAYXE. 


566     OUTLINES  AND  NOTES   OF  BEADING   CIRCLE   WORK 
NATHANIEL   PARKER  WILLIS 

STUDIES 

General.  —  1.  Willis'  literary  career.  2.  His  portraiture  in 
Ruth  Hall.  3.  His  versification ;  the  delicacy  of  his  poems. 
4.  Criticisms  upon  his  style.  5.  Thebet  Ben  Khorat.  6.  A 
night  scene  in  Arabia.  7.  The  lost  Pleiad.  8.  The  astrologer's 
soliloquy.  9.  The  astrologer's  student ;  his  sacrifice ;  the  result 
of  his  overstudy.  10.  The  student's  soliloquy.  11.  The  temp- 
tation to  overstudy.  12.  The  danger  of  overstudy. 

Pedagogical. — 1.  The  grandeur  of  astronomy.  2.  Personal  sac- 
rifices for  the  sake  of  acquiring  an  education.  3.  The  danger 
of  overstudy  —  a  needed  warning  to  teachers  and  pupils. 

NOTES 

The  prize  not  only  subordinates  the  will  to  selfish  motives,  but  it  often  so 
intensifies  effort  to  gain  the  coveted  honor  as  to  endanger  health  and  future 
usefulness.  Its  strongest  appeal  is  usually  to  bright  and  over-ambitious 
pupils,  who,  as  a  class,  are  nervous  and  excitable,  and  easily  stimulated 
to  over-exertion.  The  prize  system  has  an  appalling  list  of  victims  who  have 
died  early,  or  are  "  invalids  for  life." 

The  writer  recently  had  a  conversation  with  a  father  whose  daughter  is 
standing  at  the  head  of  her  class  (as  standing  is  determined)  in  a  great  high 
school.  At  the  close  of  the  first  year  she  was  so  completely  "  broken  down," 
that  he  took  her  to  the  seashore  for  several  weeks,  to  regain  strength.  At 
the  time  of  our  conversation,  she  was  closing  her  second  year,  pale  and 
nervous ;  and  the  father  was  doing  his  best  "  to  keep  her  up,"  as  he  expressed 
it,  until  vacation  should  bring  her  needed  relief.  Nor  is  this  prospective 
"  medal  pupil"  a  rare  exception.  Few  of  the  medal  or  honor  pupils  known 
to  the  writer  in  the  past  few  years  have  left  school  or  college  in  good  health, 
this  being  specially  true  of  the  girls. 

Since  writing  the  foregoing  paragraph  the  writer  was  in  company  with 
several  prominent  educators,  who  successively  told  of  the  death  of  young 
ladies  who,  to  their  personal  knowledge,  had  sacrificed  health  and  life  in 
winning  class  honors ;  and  soon  after  the  writing  of  these  words,  a  daily 
paper  announced  the  death  of  the  young  lady  referred  to  above,  closing 
with  this  significant  remark,  "  She  was  the  '  first  pupil '  in  her  class." 

—EMERSON  E.  WHITE. 


CHARLES  DICKENS  567 


SIXTH  MONTH,  pp.  301-377 


CHARLES   DICKENS 
STUDIES 

General.  —  1.  The  life  history  of  the  great  novelist.  2.  Dick- 
ens' visits  to  America;  his  caricature  of  Americans;  their 
forgiveness,  and  his  popularity  among  American  readers. 
3.  The  humor  of  Dickens  contrasted  with  his  pathos ;  his 
greatest  works.  4.  Lang's  letter  to  Dickens.  5.  Mr.  Grad- 
grind's  address,  and  the  schoolroom  in  which  it  was  delivered. 
6.  A  recitation  conducted  by  Mr.  Gradgrind  ;  the  exposition  of 
his  principle  in  education.  7.  Mr.  M'Choakumchild's  prepara- 
tion for  teaching.  8.  A  misdemeanor  of  Thomas  and  Louisa. 
9.  Mr.  Bounderby,  a  self-made  man.  10.  Coketown.  11.  Jupe's 
abandonment  of  his  daughter.  12.  Mrs.  Sparsit,  and  her  con- 
nections. 13.  Wondering  forbidden.  14.  The  education  of 
Cecilia  Jupe.  15.  Louisa's  education,  and  its  result. 

Pedagogical.  —  1.  A  system  of  education  from  which  im- 
agination is  eliminated.  2.  The  culture  of  the  imagination  in 
modern  schools;  the  use  of  fiction  as  a  basis  of  moral  lessons 
in  the  work  of  the  various  grades.  3.  Two  kinds  of  pride,  as 
illustrated  by  Mr.  Bounderby  and  Mrs.  Sparsit.  4.  The  need 
of  a  mother's  influence  in  the  training  of  children. 

NOTES 

To  ask,  to  guess,  to  know,  as  they  commence, 
As  fancy  opens  the  quick  springs  of  sense, 
We  ply  the  memory,  we  load  the  brain, 
Bind  rebel  wit,  and  double  chain  on  chain ; 
Confine  the  thought,  to  exercise  the  breath, 
And  keep  them  in  the  pale  of  words  till  death. 
Whate'er  the  talents,  or  howe'er  designed, 
We  hang  one  jingling  padlock  on  the  mind. 

—  ALEXANDER  POPE. 


568     OUTLINES  AND  NOTES  OF  READING  CIRCLE  WORK 

The  power  of  creating  new  forms  and  combinations  out  of  the  elements 
which  nature  furnishes,  the  faculty  which  never  lets  the  mind  rest  content 
with  mere  perception,  but  is  constantly  urging  it  to  new  activities,  is  the 
imagination.  Its  work  is  demanded  in  every  department  of  human  thought 
and  action ;  and,  therefore,  this  faculty  should  be  carefully  and  thoroughly 
trained.  Its  importance  in  educational  work  is  generally  overlooked ;  partly 
from  a  misunderstanding  in  regard  to  the  faculty  itself,  and  partly  from  a 
lack  of  system  in  the  treatment  of  all  the  faculties. 

Imagination  is  usually  regarded  as  synonymous  with  fancy  —  very  pleas- 
ant to  amuse,  but  of  little  worth  in  real  labor.  It  is  thought  to  be  poetic, 
sentimental,  impracticable,  and  of  service  in  the  avocations  rather  than  the 
vocations  of  life.  Even  writers  upon  mental  philosophy  seem  to  have  been 
lost  in  a  kind  of  fog  when  attempting  to  define  its  nature  and  office. 

The  mind  must  have  the  power  to  use  the  ideas  it  obtains,  or  they  are  of 
little  worth ;  and,  to  use  them  well,  it  must  combine  them  into  new  forms, 
thus  discovering  new  relations.  Imagination  is  usually  considered  repro- 
ductive as  well  as  productive.  The  former,  however,  means  but  little  more 
than  a  vivid  recollection,  while  the  latter  alone  expresses  the  true  idea  of 
the  recombining  or  inventive  faculty.  Before  the  imagination  can  be  devel- 
oped and  trained,  the  mind  must  be  in  possession  of  a  large  number  of  defi- 
nite ideas,  and  have  the  ability  to  perceive  the  relations  that  exist  between 
them.  Both  of  these  conditions  are  furnished  by  the  objective  system  in  a 
much  higher  degree  than  by  any  other. 

Again,  by  furnishing  the  mind  with  proper  and  congenial  subjects  of 
thought,  the  disastrous  consequences  of  a  perverted  imagination  are  avoided. 
When  occupied  with  ideas  which  have  a  real  and  tangible  basis,  the  mind 
obtains  quicker  perceptions  of  true  relations  and  a  desire  for  further  investi- 
gation; thus  the  imagination  is  impelled  in  the  right  direction.  Deprived 
of  this  food,  it  uses  the  impulses  which  spring  from  ill-regulated  appetites 
and  passions,  and  creates  a  world  which  is  unreal,  and  may  be  grotesque 
or  prurient. 

The  task  imposed  upon  pupils  of  studying  words  instead  of  ideas,  of  try- 
ing to  understand  subjects  above  their  comprehension,  tends  to  paralyze  the 
imagination,  or  force  it  into  channels  unnatural  and  dangerous.  The  bale- 
ful influence  of  improper  sights  and  immoral  books  is  a  matter  that  is  con- 
tinually forced  upon  the  attention  of  teachers  and  parents.  So  potent  are 
the  evils  arising  therefrom,  that  it  has  become  a  serious  question  with  many 
well-meaning  people,  whether  the  imagination  is  not  a  faculty  of  evil  rather 
than  beneficence,  one  that  ought  to  be  destroyed  rather  than  developed. 

When  the  mind  is  filled  with  pleasing  ideas,  when  it  is  stimulated 
through  all  the  organs  of  sense,  when  its  energies  are  taxed  to  the  utmost, 
when  its  powers  a/e  brought  into  action  in  the  exact  order  of  nature,  — 
then  will  the  imagination  find  plenty  of  employment  in  the  real  world,  and 


CHARLES  DICKENS  569 

it  will  not  so  readily  wander  away  into  by  and  forbidden  paths ;  and  the 
evils  now  so  deplored,  and  so  largely  attributable  to  false  methods  of  instruc- 
tion, will  disappear. 

—  HERMANN  KKUSI. 

Literature  abounds  in  this  ethical  material,  and  what  is  needed  is  its  wise 
selection  and  impressive  presentation  in  school  instruction.  It  is  example 
told  in  story,  ennobled  in  poetry  and  song,  and  crystallized  in  maxim,  that 
has  been  largely  the  inspirer  of  human  endeavor  and  the  moral  uplift  in 
human  life.  .  .  .  We  desire  to  call  special  attention  to  the  fairy  tale,  .  .  . 
and  for  the  reason  that  we  hesitate  to  recommend  unqualifiedly  its  use  as  an 
element  of  moral  instruction.  The  fascination  of  the  fairy  tale  in  child- 
hood is  conceded;  but  we  can  but  question  the  moral  influence  of  those 
myths  that  present  powers  of  evil  in  the  form  of  elfs,  imps,  hobgoblins,  etc. 

No  thoughtful  parent  would  thank  a  teacher,  whether  in  the  kindergarten 
or  the  elementary  school,  for  filling  the  imagination  of  his  little  ones  with 
these  evil  sprites,  lurking  in  the  darkness.  To  a  child  the  darkness  and  the 
light  should  be  equally  free  from  terror.  The  theory  that  every  child  must 
go  through  with  the  experience  of  the  race  is  more  attractive  than  true. 
Birth  into  an  enlightened  Christian  home  ought  to  protect  a  child  from 
some  of  the  experiences  of  pagan  life. 

But  there  are  fairy  tales  that  represent  supernatural  beings  as  ministers 
of  good,  not  evil;  and  these  may  have  an  important  place  in  the  ethical 
training  of  the  young.  Some  of  these  tales  lend  an  exquisite  charm  to 
virtue.  No  kind  of  literature  needs  more  careful  sifting  than  myths  and 
fairy  tales,  and  no  literature  will  better  pay  for  the  sifting.  It  may  be 
added  that  all  material  for  moral  instruction  should  be  selected  with  care. 

—  EMERSON  E.  WHITE. 

"  Education,"  in  the  pertinent  language  of  Mr.  Fox,  "  has  reference  to 
the  whole  man,  the  body,  the  mind,  and  the  heart ;  its  object,  and  when 
rightly  conducted,  its  effect,  is  to  make  him  a  complete  creature,  after  his 
kind.  To  his  frame  it  would  give  vigor,  activity,  and  beauty ;  to  his  senses, 
correctness  and  acuteness;  to  his  intellect,  power,  and  truthfulness;  to  his 
heart,  virtue.  The  educated  man  is  not  the  gladiator,  nor  the  scholar,  nor 
the  upright  man,  alone;  but  a  just  and  well-balanced  combination  of  all 
three.  Just  as  the  educated  tree  is  neither  the  large  root,  nor  the  giant 
branches,  nor  the  rich  foliage,  but  all  of  them  together.  If  you  would 
mark  the  perfect  man,  you  must  not  look  for  him  in  the  circus,  the  univer- 
sity, or  the  church,  exclusively ;  but  you  must  look  for  one  who  has  '  mens 
sana  in  cnrpore  sano'  —  a  healthful  mind  in  a  healthful  body.  The  being 
in  whom  you  find  this  union  is  the  only  one  worthy  td  be  called  educated. 
To  make  all  men  such  is  the  object  of  education." 

—  DAVID  P.  PAGE. 


570     OUTLINES  AND  NOTES   OF  READING   CIRCLE   WORK 
SEVENTH  MONTH,  pp.  381-450 


NIKOLAI   VASSILIEVITCH    GOGOL 

STUDIES 

General.  —  1.  Gogol's  birth  and  education.  2.  His  early 
writings.  3.  His  great  scheme  for  a  comprehensive  history, 
and  its  failure  ;  his  failure  as  a  professor.  4.  The  limitations 
under  which  Russian  authors  must  write.  5.  How  Gogol 
learned  caution.  6.  The  style  of  a  Russian  novel,  as  influ- 
enced by  the  despotism  of  the  government.  7.  Gogol's  Cloak. 
8.  Gogol's  Dead  Souls.  9.  The  hidden  meaning  of  Gogol's 
writings ;  their  moral.  10.  A  scene  in  the  rural  mountains, 
near  Mount  Tremal ;  a  Russian  village  and  its  manor  house. 

11.  The  opinion  of  the  neighborhood  concerning  Tentetnikof. 

12.  How   Tentetnikof    passed   the   day.       13.    Tentetnikof's 
childhood.     14.    Gogol's  idea  of  the  use  of  ridicule.     Is  it  safe 
to  encourage  this?     15.    The  school  of  Alexander  Petrovitch, 
and  it's  characteristics.     16.    Petrovitch's  elimination  of   dull 
and   trifling   pupils  ;    his  advanced  course  of   study,   and  its 
requirements.       17.     Petrovitch's    unreserved   presentation   of 
the  vices  of  society.     18.    Petrovitch's  influence  on  the  after 
life  of  his  pupils;   various  ways  in  which  it  was  exerted;    the 
superior  equipment  of  his  pupils  for  arduous  services.     19.   Ten- 
tetnikof's  great   misfortune ;    its   influence  upon   the   school. 

20.  Cause  of  the  failure  of  the  school  under  the  new  teachers. 

21.  Tentetnikof's  experience  in  the  civil  service  at  St.  Peters- 
burg ;  his  reasons  for  leaving  it.     22.    Tentetnikof's  efforts  as 
a   reformer.     23.    Tentetnikof's   failure   as   a   reformer;    the 
reasons  for  it. 

Pedagogical.  —  1.  The  intense  personality  of  the  ideal  teacher. 
2.  Gogol's  theory  of  the  true  incentive  of  the  student,  and  the 
means  of  making  it  effective.  3.  Gogol's  plan  for  the  elimi- 
nation from  the  schools  of  a  certain  class  of  students.  4.  How 


NIKOLAI   VASS1L1EV1TCU  GOGOL  571 

a  school  may  become  demoralized  by  want  of  concerted  action 
on  the  part  of  its  teachers.  5.  The  vast  influence  of  early 
education  upon  the  subsequent  life  work. 

NOTES 

Uniformity  is  the  curse  of  American  schools.  That  any  school  or  col- 
lege has  a  uniform  product,  should  be  regarded  as  a  demonstration  of  inferi- 
ority, of  incapacity  to  meet  the  legitimate  demands  of  a  social  order  whose 
fundamental  principle  is  that  every  career  should  be  open  to  talent.  Selec- 
tion of  studies  for  the  individual,  instruction  addressed  to  the  individual, 
irregular  promotion,  grading  by  natural  capacity  and  rapidity  of  attainment, 
and  diversity  of  product  as  regards  age  and  acquisitions  must  come  to 
characterize  the  American  public  school  if  it  is  to  answer  the  purposes  of  a 

democratic  society. 

—  CHARLES  W.  ELIOT. 

If  a  teacher  should  put  his  blue-eyed  children  in  one  class  and  the  black 
eyes  in  another,  or  if  he  should  put  all  of  a  certain  height  or  weight 
together,  every  one  would  see  the  absurdity  of  the  performance.  It  is 
scarcely  less  absurd  to  put  a  boy  into  a  certain  class  because  of  his  age  or 
family,  or  the  wealth  or  position  of  his  father,  than  to  put  him  there  because 
of  the  color  of  his  eyes.  Perhaps,  however,  it  is  proper  to  put  a  backward 
pupil  who  is  somewhat  mature  into  a  class  a  little  higher  than  his  acquire- 
ments would  indicate,  because  it  is  fair  to  suppose  that  he  may  work  some- 
what harder  than  the  pupils  of  the  same  standing  who  are  less  mature.  .  .  . 

The  true  bases  of  classification  are  two  in  number,  viz.,  present  acquire- 
ments and  general  ability.  Of  these  two  the  latter  is  of  more  importance, 
although  the  former  is  more  easily  ascertained,  and  very  often  it  seems  to 
be  the  only  thing  regarded.  General  ability  includes  natural  aptness, 
maturity  of  mind,  good  habits  of  study,  health,  etc.  A  simple  examination 
does  not  readily  disclose  all  these  elements.  .  .  . 

There  is  no  essential  difference  between  graded  schools  and  well-clas- 
sified schools.  The  diiferent  grades  are  but  classes  put  into  the  hands  of 
different  teachers.  A  system  of  graded  schools  should  always  have  an  able 
and  well-qualified  superintendent  at  its  head.  Of  course  such  a  person 
ought  to  command  a  good  salary,  but  he  can  use  teachers  of  less  experience 
under  his  direction  and  supervision,  and  in  that  way  better  work  may  be 
done,  and  at  less  cost  than  would  be  necessary  if  only  those  teachers  were 
employed  who  could  be  trusted  to  do  their  work  without  supervision.  No 
one  ought  to  attempt  the  supervision  of  a  system  of  graded  schools  without 
giving  the  subject  very  careful  thought  and  study.  The  annual  reports  of 
the  schools  in  cities  like  St.  Louis,  Boston,  Cincinnati,  and  Chicago  will 
possess  much  interest  for  a  superintendent. 


572     OUTLINES  AND  NOTES  OF  READING   CIRCLE  WORK 

The  great  danger  in  graded  schools  is  that  the  grades  will  be  made  too 
inflexible,  and  thus  the  individual  will  be  sacrificed  to  the  system.  A  wise 
superintendent  will  devise  ways  to  prevent  this,  and  to  allow  each  student 

to  progress  as  fast  as  he  is  able,  and  no  faster. 

—  EDWIN  C.  HEWETT. 

It  is  strangely  curious  that  the  doing  of  the  same  thing  may  be  both 
easy  and  difficult  —  easy  when  done  in  the  right  way,  difficult  when  done  in 
the  wrong  way.  Success  attends  the  doing  in  the  right  way  ;  failure  is  cer- 
tain to  follow  the  doing  in  the  wrong  way.  This  is  eminently  true  of  teach- 
ing. Therefore,  to  determine  what  is  the  proper  way  becomes  a  question  of 
great  moment  to  every  earnest  teacher ;  for  on  the  correctness  of  this  deci- 
sion depend  the  results  of  the  teaching  and  the  welfare  of  the  pupils. 

A  person  may  compare  the  results  of  one  period  of  his  work  with  those 
of  another  period,  and  thus  note  his  own  growth  and  progress  in  that  work; 
but  no  person  can  measure  himself  by  himself  alone,  and  thus  determine 
his  actual  ability.  No  teacher  can  measure  his  own  work  by  itself,  and  thus 
determine  its  true  quality.  To  obtain  accurate  results  of  any  kind  of  work, 
and  arrive  at  just  conclusions  as  to  its  character,  comparisons  must  be  made 
under  many  conditions,  and  extended  to  a  multitude  of  cases.  So  the 
teacher  must  compare  his  own  methods  of  teaching  with  those  that  have 
been  proved  to  be  good  by  a  long  series  of  practical  experiments  —  made 
under  a  great  variety  of  conditions,  and  tested  by  the  principles  of  education 
—  before  he  can  know  with  certainty  that  he  has  a  standard  of  high  value 
to  guide  him  in  the  work  of  instruction. 

Those  teachers  whose  methods  agree  with  the  principles  of  education  and 
are  confirmed  by  intelligent  experience  stand  upon  a  plane  far  above  that 
occupied  by  the  untrained  and  unskilled  school  keeper,  or  that  of  one  who 
remains  an  undecided  experimenter  in  this  important  field ;  and  the  intel- 
ligent work  approved  by  such  reliable  authority  becomes  certain  in  the 
character  of  its  results,  and  positive  in  its  value. 

Permanent  and  uniform  success  in  teaching  must  come  through  the  use 
of  those  methods  which  are  in  accordance  with  the  principles  of  education  ; 
therefore  an  intelligent  understanding  of  those  principles  is  necessary  to  the 
securing  of  desired  results.  From  these  statements  the  importance  of 
attention  to  the  science  of  education — of  knowing  what  are  the  several 
powers  of  the  mind,  and  the  means  for  their  development  and  proper  culti- 
vation—  become  readily  apparent.  By  a  careful  study  of  this  department 
of  education,  teachers  may  ascertain  whether  or  not  the  means  which  they 
are  using  will  accomplish  the  end  in  view  in  the  acquisition  of  knowledge 
and  the  proper  training  of  mental  power.  Indeed,  it  is  the  duty  of  every 
teacher  to  know  how  to  do  his  work,  and  also  to  know  why  he  does  it  in  one 

way  rather  than  in  another. 

—  N.  A.  CALKINS. 


NIKOLAI    VASSILIEVITCU    GOGOL.  573 

Ridicule  is  a  weapon  that  should  not  be  wielded  as  a  school  punish- 
ment. It  often  cuts  deeper  than  he  who  uses  it  imagines,  and  it  usually 
gives  most  pain  where  it  is  least  merited.  Some  physical  defect  or  some 
mental  incapacity  or  eccentricity  is  most  'frequently  made  the  subject  of 
it;  and  yet  nothing  can  be  more  unfeeling  or  more  unjust  than  its  use  in 
such  cases. 

If  the  designed  failings  of  the  indolent  or  the  premeditated  mischief  of 
the  vicious  could  be  subjected  to  its  influence,  its  use  would  be  more  allowable, 
—  but  even  then  it  would  be  questionable.  But  the  indolent  and  the  vicious 
are  usually  unaffected  by  ridicule.  They  sin  upon  calculation,  and  not  with- 
out counting  the  cost ;  and  they  are  therefore  very  willing  to  risk  their 
reputation,  where  they  have  so  little  to  lose.  It  is  the  modest,  the  conscien- 
tious, the  well-meaning  child  that  is  the  most  affected  by  ridicule ;  yet  it  is 
such  a  one  that,  for  various  reasons,  is  oftenest  made  the  subject  •  of  it, 
though,  of  all  children,  his  feelings  should  be  most  tenderly  spared. 

A  strong  objection  to  the  use  of  ridicule  is  the  feeling  which  it  induces 
between  the  teacher  and  pupil.  The  teacher,  conscious  that  he  has  injured 
the  feelings  of  the  child,  will  find  it  hard  to  love  him  afterward ;  for  we 
seldom  love  those  whom  we  have  injured.  The  child,  on  the  other  hand, 
loses  confidence  in  his  teacher;  he  feels  that  his  sensibilities  have  been  out- 
raged before  his  companions,  and  that  the  teacher,  who  should  be  his  best 
friend  in  the  school,  has  invited  the  heartless  laugh  of  his  fellow-pupils 
against  him.  With  a  want  of  love  on  the  one  hand,  and  of  confidence  on 
the  other,  what  further  usefulness  can  reasonably  be  expected  ? 

But  the  strongest  objection  of  all  to  the  use  of  ridicule  is  the  fact  that  it 
calls  forth  the  worst  of  feelings  in  the  school.  Those  who  participate  in  the 
laugh  thus  excited  are  under  the  influence  of  no  very  amiable  motives.  And 
when  this  is  carried  so  far  as  to  invite,  by  direct  words,  some  expression  from 
the  schoolmates,  by  pointing  the  finger  of  shame,  and  perhaps  accompanying 
the  act  by  a  hiss  of  scorn,  the  most  deplorable  spirit  of  self-righteousi>ess  is 
cultivated. 

—  DAVID  P.  PAGE. 

The  great  teacher's  progress  is  not  to  be  compared  with  anything  like  the 
inarch  of  the  conqueror,  but  it  leads  to  a  far  more  brilliant  triumph  and  to 
laurels  more  imperishable  than  the  destroyer  of  his  species,  the  scourge  of  the 
world,  ever  won.  Each  one  of  these  great  teachers  of  the  world,  possessing 
his  soul  in  peace,  performs  his  appointed  course,  awaits  in  patience  the  ful- 
fillment of  the  promises,  and,  resting  from  his  labors,  bequeaths  his  memory 
to  the  generation  whom  his  works  have  blessed,  and  sleeps  under  the  humble, 
but  not  inglorious  epitaph,  commemorating,  "one  in  whom  mankind  lost  a 
friend,  and  no  man  got  rid  of  an  enemy." 

—  LORD  BROUGHAM. 


574     OUTLINES  AND  NOTES  OF  READING   CIRCLE   WORK 

JOHN   GODFREY   SAXE 

STUDIES 

General.  —  1.  Saxe's  college  days  ;  his  professional  career. 
2.  "Saxe  as  a  poet  and  as  a  wit.  3.  Saxe's  tales  of  the  Orient ; 
his  travesties ;  his  extended  poems.  4.  Matters  which  pro- 
voke the  poet  to  satire.  5.  Ridicule  of  the  theory  of  compen- 
sation. 6.  Imagination  substituted  for  laborious  thought  in 
the  college.  7.  Satirization  of  quick  roads  to  learning. 
8.  Satirization  of  the  Ladies'  Schools.  9.  Satirization  of  modern 
sciences.  10.  Satirization  of  attractive  labor.  11.  Satiriza- 
tion of  French  influence  in  education.  12.  Satirization  of  the 
modern  press. 

Pedagogical.  —  1.  To  what  extent  may  intellectual  labor  be 
judiciously  lightened  in  school  courses  ?  2.  The  true  place  of 
modern  languages  and  art  in  education.  3%  Schools  for  women 
exclusively.  4.  Educational  "fads."  5.  The  need  for  dis- 
crimination in  general  reading. 

NOTES 

Another  principle  of  the  New  Education  is  that  it  seeks  to  make  the 
acquisition  of  knowledge,  and  all  the  work  of  the  school,  agreeable  to  the 
pupil/  The  human  mind  naturally  craves  knowledge,  and  its  acquisition 
»ives  the  highest  pleasure ;  but  it  must  be  real  knowledge,  —  not  its  sem- 
blance, symbols,  or  husks.  It  is  believed  that  the  work  of  the  school  may 
be  so  conducted  that-  the  pupil  may  realize  at  all  times  that  his  store  of 
knowledge  is  increasing,  that  his  powers  are  strengthening,  and  that  he  may 
rejoice  and  be  glad  in  his  growth.  This  is  a  worthy  aim,  and  the  teacher 
can  hardly  regard  it  too  highly. 

Yet  it  may  be  doubted  whether  the  giving  of  pleasure  to  the  pupils  should 
be  made  the  ultimate  or  only  test  in  estimating  the  character  of  school  work. 
Jn  life,  duty  often  imposes  upon  us  tasks  that  are  not  wholly  agreeable, 
although  their  accomplishment  may  bring  the  highest  pleasure.  It  may 
well  be  asked  whether  school  should  not  train  us  to  meet  and  do  bravely 

just  such  tasks. 

—  EDWIN  C.  HEWBTT. 


JOHN   GODFREY  SAXE  575 

Music  is  supposed  to  be  a  sine  qua  non l  in  the  education  of  all  girls.  The 
boarding  schools  of  Duuedin  (Edinburgh,  Scotland)  are  allowed  a  very  high 
position  in  the  field  of  feminine  didactics ;  for  Dunedin  is  the  intellectual 
capital  of  an  education-loving  kingdom.  In  one  of  our  very  fashionable  and 
aristocratic  schools  you  will  see  a  music  master,  in  the  course  of  three  hours, 
pass  fifteen  little  strumming  maidens  through  his  hands.  He  gives  this 
lesson,  of  superintendence  it  is  called,  once  a  week.  In  another,  still  more 
fashionable  school,  this  electric  telegraph  superintendence  is  given  once  a 
fortnight.  In  twelve  minutes  the  master  has  to  hear  an  old  lesson  played,  to 
settle  the  piece  for  the  next  lesson,  to  write  a  good  or  bad  mark  in  a  note- 
book, and,  occasionally,  to  take  a  pinch  of  snuff,  or  blow  his  weary  nose. 
The  little  pupil  in  the  latter  school  has  about  eleven  minutes  of  male  super- 
vision in  the  course  of  a  fortnight;  which  would  give  fifty-five  seconds 
per  diem,  if  the  work  were  distributed  over  all  the  week  days.  Have  these 
music  masters  never  heard  of  Richardson's  Theater,  where  a  tragedy,  a 
comedy,  and  a  comic  *ong  are  all  enacted  within  the  limits  of  their  perspir- 
ing lessons  ? 

May  not  this  electric  telegraph  system  of  musical  instruction  explain  the 
general  shallowness  of  our  drawing-room  music?  The  fault  can  hardly  be 
in  the  brains  or  fingers  of  our  girls,  for  they  come  of  a  race  that  has  pro- 
duced the  most  exquisite  ballad  system,  and  the  best  collection  of  love- 
songs  in  all  Europe.  Some  thousands  of  our  girls  are  studying  music  year 
by  year;  yet  for  every  girl  musician  in  Dunedin  you  would  find  thirty  in  less 
populous  Brussels,  and  ten  in  insignificant  Bruges.  And  what  are  Belgian 
girls  to  the  girls  of  Scotland  ? 

Modern  languages  are  taught  at  all  schools  to  all  pupils.  How  often, 
reader,  have  you  met  with  a  girl  of  fifteen  who  could  write  French  correctly, 
or  speak  it  with  a  good  accent,  although  she  might  have  studied  the  language 
for  four  years  at  a  flourishing  school  ?  This  is  not  the  fault  of  our  girls ; 
the  cause  lies  deeper.  Our  boarding  schools  are  too  often  mere  business 
speculations,  whose  proprietors  have  as  much  real  interest  in  the  mental  cul- 
ture of  their  charges  as  a  hotel  keeper  in  the  spiritual  welfare  of  his  guests. 
Men  of  talent  are  often  employed  by  them  in  work  degrading  to  themselves, 
and  useless  to  their  pupils ;  and  very  often  sharp  and  ready  fellows  are 
employed,  that  never  received  the  education  of  gentlemen,  and  were  never 
intended  to  address  a  lady  without  the  intervention  of  a  counter.  If  a  sys- 
tem is  vulgar  that  employs  incompetency,  that  sweats  and  underpays  talent, 
is  there  no  vulgarity  in  those  patrons  whose  call  for  cheap  teaching  is  the 
source  of  all  the  mischief  ?  What  do  we  want  with  your  fine  musicians  and 
over-educated  scholars?  Give  us  teaching  stuff  that  will  stand  wear  and  tear. 

—  D'ARCY  W.  THOMPSON. 

1  An  indispensable  condition. 


570     OUTLINES  AND  NOTES   OF  READING   CIRCLE   WORK 
THOMAS  WILLIAM    ROBERTSON 

STUDIES 

General.  —  1.  Robertson's  rank  among  the  playwrights  of  his 
day.  2.  His  youth ;  his  early  success.  3.  The  disappointing 
character  of  his  dramas  when  read.  4.  School.  5.  The  story 
of  Cinderella.  6.  The  learned  Dr.  Sutcliffe.  7.  Mr.  Krux ; 
his  morbid  disposition ;  his  false  ideas  of  life ;  his  want  of 
true  dignity.  8.  Visitors  to  the  school.  9.  The  school  ex- 
amination; its  character.  10.  Mr.  Krux's  superciliousness. 
11.  Disappearance  of  a  favorite  pupil.  12.  The  d£noue- 
ment. 

Pedagogical.  —  1.  The  natural  unfitness  of  some  teachers  for 
their  work.  2.  The  affectation  of  profundity  by  a  teacher. 
3.  False  ideas  of  social  station  in  a  school.  4.  School  exami- 
nations ;  how  they  should  be  conducted. 

NOTES 

It  is  now  the  usage  in  all  our  schools  to  have  public  examinations,  — 
generally  at  the  close  of  a  term,  or  a  portion  of  a  term,  —  in  order  to  test,  in 
some  measure,  the  industry  and  skill  of  the  teacher,  and  the  proficiency  of 
the  pupils.  I  am  hardly  prepared  to  oppose  this  usage,  because  I  am  inclined 
to  believe  examinations  are  of  some  utility  as  a  means  of  awakening  an 
interest  in  the  parents  of  the  children  ;  perhaps  they  do  something  to  stimu- 
late school  officers,  and  also  to  excite  both  teacher  and  pupils  to  greater 
effort  during  the  term.  Still,  public  examinations,  as  frequently  conducted, 
are  not  without  serious  objections. 

They  certainly  cannot  be  looked  upon  as  criterions  of  the  faithfulness  or 
success  of  teachers.  A  man  with 'tact,  and  without  honesty,  may  make  his 
school  appear  to  far  greater  advantage  than  a  better  man  can  make  a  better 
school  appear.  This  has  often  happened.  It  is  not  the  most  faithful  and 
thorough  teaching  that  makes  the  show  and  attracts  the  applause  of  a  public 
exhibition.  It  is  the  superficial,  mechanical,  memoriter  exercise  that  is  most 
imposing.  Who  has  not  seen  a  class  that  recited  by  rote  and  in  concert  at  a 
celebration  win  the  largest  approbation,  when  many  of  the  individuals  knew 
not  the  import  of  the  words  they  uttered.  Names  in  geography  have  been 


THOMAS    WILLIAM  ROBERTSON  577 

thus  "  said  or  sung,"  when  the  things  signified  were  to  the  children  as  really 
terrce  incognitos,  as  the  fairy  lands  of  Sindbad  the  Sailor. 

Xor  can  such  exhibitions  be  claimed  justly  to  indicate  the  proficiency  of 
the  pupils.  Every  experienced  teacher  knows  that  the  best  scholars  often 
fail  at  a  public  examination,  and  the  most  indolent  and  superficial  often  dis- 
tinguish themselves.  The  spectators,  not  unfrequently,  in  pointing  out  the 
talent  of  the  school,  make  the  teacher  smile  at  their  blunders. 

They  present  a  strong  temptation  to  dishonesty  on  the  part  of  the  teacher. 
Since  so  much  stress  is  laid  upon  the  examination,  and  particularly,  in  some 
regions,  upon  the  celebration,  where  several  schools  are  brought  together  to 
make  a  show  for  a  few  hours,  it  must  be  rather  an  uncommon  man  who  will 
have  sufficient  principle  to  exhibit  his  school  as  it  is,  and  refuse  to  make 
those  efforts  so  very  common  to  have  it  appear  what  it  is  not.  The  wish, 
expressed  or  implied,  of  the  parents,  and  the  ambition  of  the  children,  all 
conspire  to  make  the  teacher  yield  to  a  usage  so  common.  . 

Consequently,  several  weeks  will  be  spent  to  prepare  the  children  to  appear 
in  public.  During  this  time  they  study  not  for  improvement,  not  for  future 
usefulness,  but  simply  to  make  a  show  at  the  public  celebration.  An  un- 
worthy and  unwarrantable  motive  actuates  them  during  all  this  process; 
and  at  last,  unless  strangely  benighted,  they  are  conscious  of  holding  up  a 
false  appearance  to  the  world.  Now,  under  such  circumstances,  whatever 
of  good  is  effected,  by  way  of  enkindling  a  zeal  in  the  parents,  is  dearly 
purchased.  The  sacrifice  of  principle  in  a  teacher — much  more  in  the 
children  —  is  a  large  price  to  pay  for  the  applause  of  a  few  visitors,  or 
even  for  an  increase  of  interest  among  them  in  the  cause  of  popular 
education. 

Examinations,  however,  which  are  less  showy,  and  which  are  of  such  a 
character  as  thoroughly  to  sift  the  teachings  that  have  been  given,  and  to 
thwart  any  ingenious  efforts  especially  to  prepare  for  them  —  examinations 
that  look  back  to  the  general  teaching  of  the  term  of  the  year,  and  test  the 
accuracy  and  thoroughness  of  the  instructions  —  are  unquestionably  very 
desirable  and  useful.  To  make  them  so  in  the  highest  sense,  and  to  exempt 
them  from  an  evil  tendency  upon  the  minds  of  the  young  themselves,  the 
teacher  should  be  strictly  honest.  Not  a  lesson  should  be  given  with  sole 
reference  to  the  exhibition  at  the  close ;  not  an  exercise  should  be  omitted 
because  the  examination  approaches.  The  good  teacher  should  keep  those 
great  motives  before  the  mind,  which  look  to  future  usefulness,  and  to  the 
discharge  of  duty.  The  child  should  be  taught  that  he  is  accountable  for 
what  he  acquires,  and  what  he  may  acquire,  and  not  for  what  he  may 
appear  to  have  acquired ;  and  that  this  accountability  is  not  confined  to  a 
single  day,  soon  to  pass  and  be  forgotten,  but  it  runs  through  all  time  and 
all  eternity. 

—  DAVID  P.  PAGE. 

SCH.   IN  COM.  —  37 


578     OUTLINES  AND   NOTES   OF  READING   CIECLE   WORK 

That  the  importance  commonly  attached  to  examinations  is  a  mistake, 
is  a  conviction  slowly  making  itself  felt  among  a  large  number  of  teachers. 
That  they  are  not,  and  cannot  be  to  any  great  extent,  a  means  of  estimating 
mind  growth,  is  clear ;  and  certainly  the  formation  of  right  habits  of  think- 
ing and  acting  is  not  the  least  result  for  which  the  teacher  labors.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  diverse  tendencies  of  individual  minds,  faulty  recitation 
work,  the  relatively  small  amount  of  written  work  done  in  our  schools,  the 
periodicity  of  examinations  where  such  practice  exists,  and  faulty  question- 
ing—  one  and  all  —  are  active  agents  in  lessening  the  value  commonly 
ascribed  to  examinations  as  measures  of  intellectual  attainments ;  and  to 
determine  either  the  class  standing  or  the  promotion  by  them  alone,  is  cer- 
tainly an  injustice  to  pupils. 

—  MARGARET  LAWRENCE. 

The  young  study  character  very  speedily  and  very  accurately.  Perhaps 
no  one  pupil  could  express  in  words  an  exact  estimate  of  a  teacher's  char- 
acter after  a  week's  acquaintance ;  but  the  whole  school  has  received  an 
impression  which  is  not  far  from  the  truth.  A  teacher,  then,  is  very  unwise 
who  attempts  to  assume  to  be  anything  which  he  is  not.  He  should  ever  be 
frank,  and  in  commencing  a  school  he  should  begin  as  he  can  hold  out. 
Any  assumption  of  an  authoritative  tone  is  especially  ill-judged.  The  pupils 
at  once  put  themselves  in  an  attitude  of  resistance  when  this  is  perceived  by 
them. 

It  is  a  maxim  of  law  that  one  charged  with  crime  is  always  to  be  pre- 
sumed innocent  until  proved  guilty.  This  should  be  a  maxim  with  the 
teacher  who  would  govern  well.  There  is  no  more  direct  way  of  making  a 
school  vicious  than  by  showing  them  that  you  suspect  they  are  so.  A  good 
reputation  is  dear  to  all,  and  even  a  bad  boy  will  be  restrained  from  wicked 
acts  as  long  as  he  thinks  you  give  him  credit  for  good  intentions.  But  if 
he  finds  that  he  has  lost  your  good  opinion,  he  feels  that  he  has  nothing 
further  to  lose  by  being  as  bad  as  you  suspect  him  to  be.  A  teacher  is  wise, 
therefore,  if  he  tries  to  see  something  good  even  in  a  vicious  pupil.  It  may 
be,  as  it  often  has  been,  the  means  of  saving  such  a  pupil. 

I  have  known  a  very  depraved  boy  entirely  reformed  in  school  by  his 
teacher's  letting  him  know  that  he  had  noticed  some  good  traits  in  his  char- 
acter. He  afterwards  told  his  teacher  that  he  had  been  so  often  suspected 
to  be  a  villain  that  he  had  almost  come  to  the  conclusion  that  he  would  be 
one,  but  that  when  he  found  one  man  who  could  do  him  the  justice  to  give 
him  credit  for  a  few  good  feelings  —  for  he  knew  he  had  them  —  he  at  once 
determined  to  show  that  man  that  his  confidence  had  not  been  misplaced, 
and  that  he  would  sooner  die  than  knowingly  offend  the  only  person  who 
had  ever  understood  him. 

—  DAVID  P.  PAGB. 


CHARLES   WILLIAM  BABDEEN  579 


EIGHTH   MONTH,  pp.  453-490 


CHARLES  WILLIAM    BARDEEN 

STUDIES 

General.  —  1.  A  young  soldier  and  teacher.  2.  Bardeen's 
education ;  his  experience  in  the  school  superintendency  and 
in  the  normal  school  work.  3.  Roderick  Hume;  its  indi- 
viduality among  American  novels ;  the  interest  which  it  awak- 
ened ;  objections  urged  against  the  fifteenth  chapter  of  the 
book.  4.  Bardeen's  other  works.  5.  The  Teachers'  Bureau. 

6.  The  elements  of   a  successful  teacher;   the  importance    of 
tact.     7.    Professor  Cobb,  and  the  Norway  Free  High  School ; 
Miss  Lowe's  work.     8.    The  recitation  in  arithmetic.     9.    Mr. 
Dormouse ;  Squire  Marvin  ;  Mr.  Domite ;  Mr.  Angell ;  Squire 
Coy ;  Mr.  Abrahams ;  Mr.  Blarston.     10.    Hume's  first  work 
in   the   schoolhouse.      11.    The   systems   of    examination   and 
marking.     12.    Hume's  first  day  in  the  school ;  his  theory  of 
school  discipline. 

Pedagogical.  —  1.  The  value  of  the  Teachers'  Bureau ;  how 
such  a  Bureau  should  be  conducted.  2.  What  makes  a  teacher 
successful.  3.  How  to  conduct  a  class*  in  arithmetic.  4.  The 
neglect  of  the  use  of  apparatus  in  schools.  5.  The  duties 
of  a  Principal.  6.  A  teacher's  dealings  with  School  Boards. 

7.  The  police  system  of  school  discipline. 

NOTES 

Our  public  school  system,  in  its  purpose  and  scope  and  general  adminis- 
tration, is  our  national  pride,  if  not  our  glory.  But,  as  Americans,  fully 
comprehending  what  it  is,  is  it  not  our  first  and  patriotic  duty  to  repair  in 
it  whatever  imperfections  may  appear,  that  it  may  more  and  more  effectively 
subserve  its  purpose?  You  know,  gentlemen,  undoubtedly  better  than  I, 
that  political  patronage  and  personal  interests  and  partialities,  ignorance 


580     OUTLINES  AND  NOTES  OF  READING   CIRCLE   WORK 

and  indifference,  and  mercenary  and  illicit  motives  of  all  kinds  do  in  some 
degree  degrade  and  demoralize  the  public  school  system.  You  know  that 
in  the  primary  schools  the  seeds  of  our  future  America  are  sown,  and  you 
know  how  deep  in  that  quick  soil  of  childhood  all  ignoble  dispositions  may 
strike  their  roots,  like  poisonous  weeds,  and  with  what  difficulty  they  are 
torn  up. 

A  teacher  cannot  cringe  to  a  superior  school  officer  and  flatter  and  fawn 
for  favor  without  a  loss  of  self-respect  which  necessarily  affects  his  manhood, 
destroys  his  enthusiasm,  and  unfits  him  for  his  duty.  Can  any  patriotic 
American  state  one  good  reason  why  a  system  of  selection  which  is  entirely 
applicable  and  with  the  happiest  results  to  every  other  branch  of  the  public 
service  is  unfitted  for  the  most  important  branch  of  all,  the  public  school? 
It  is  a  simple,  reasonable,  and  perfectly  practicable  system,  and  that  its 
principle  might  be  universally  adopted  for  the  selection  of  teachers  is  a 
proposition  which  does  not  seem  to  me  to  admit  of  debate. 

Every  objection  and  adverse  argument  that  has  been  urged  in  the  general 
discussion  of  the  question  of  civil  service  reform  in  this  country  was  antici- 
pated in  the  English  consideration  of  the  same  subject.  The  chief  opposi- 
tion—  what  I  may  call  the  last  ditch  of  objection  —  was  that  no  preliminary 
examination  of  general  or  special  information  could  determine  satisfactorily 
the  fitness  for  his  duties  of  a  public  officer  of  any  degree. 

The  conclusive  reply  to  this  objection  was  twofold :  first,  that  there  was 
simply  a  choice  of  alternatives,  and  that  an  impartial  preliminary  inquiry 
into  fitness  was  better  than  no  care  or  inquiry  at  all,  which  is  the  spoils  sys- 
tem ;  and,  second,  that  final  appointment  was  to  be  made  only  after  proba- 
tion or  actual  test  of  capacity  and  fitness.  So  T  can  suppose  it  to  be  said 
that  examination  in  scholarship  would  not  test  the  more  important  qualifi- 
cations of  a  teacher,  which  are  the  ability  to  awaken  interest,  to  impart 
knowledge,  and  to  keep  order  —  the  first  and  imperative  requirement  in  the 
American  school.  But  probation  would  test  them  as  in  other  employments, 
and  probation  is  a  vital  condition  of  the  reformed  system. 

The  application  of  what  we  call  the  merit  system  to  the  schools  is  long 
established  and  familiar  elsewhere.  The  elementary  schools  of  Germany, 
for  instance,  are  certainly  among  the  best  in  the  world,  and  every  German 
teacher  must  have  had  three  or  four  years'  training  in  a  normal  school,  of 
which  the  standard  is  prescribed  by  the  government,  and  after  two  years  of 
provisional  service  he  must  pass  a  second  practical  examination  before  he  is 
definitely  installed  in  his  work.  This  is  the  provision  also  in  France  and 
Austria ;  and  in  Ireland,  as  Mr.  Jay,  first  President  of  the  New  York  Civil 
Service  Commission,  states,  the  four  national  examiners  of  the  public  schools 
are  selected  by  competitive  examinations. 

The  comment  upon  such  facts,  perhaps,  will  be  that  America  is  not  Ger- 
many, France,  Austria,  or  Ireland,  and  that  we  are  a  law  unto  ourselves, 


CHARLES   WILLIAM  JtARDEEN  581 

True ;  but  among  the  great  qualities  which  have  made  America  is  the  com- 
mon sense  which  appropriates  to  American  advantage  whatever  in  any 
country  in  the  world  seems  to  be  wise  or  useful. 

—  GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

The  work  of  instruction  follows  the  law  which  prevails  in  all  other  indus- 
tries —  differentiation,  classification,  system ;  and,  as  in  a  complicated  proc- 
ess of  manufacture,  while  each  workman  is  held  responsible  for  that  part 
which  he  executes,  some  one  inan  is  held  responsible  for  the  general  result ; 
so  in  an  extended  system  of  instruction  there  should  be  a  responsible  head, 
able  to  devise  plans  in  general  and  in  detail,  and  vested  with  sufficient 
authority  to  keep  all  subordinates  in  their  proper  places,  and  at  their 
assigned  tasks. 

A  graded  school  of  a  thousand  pupils  and  twenty  teachers  involves  a 
system  of  great  complexity,  and  requires  the  nicest  adjustments  in  order 
to  work  with  harmony  and  efficiency.  The  arrangement  of  courses  of  study, 
the  examination  and  classification  of  pupils,  their  discipline  and  correc- 
tion, the  oversight  of  teachers,  the  compilation  of  records,  —  these  are  some 
of  the  items  on  which  depends  the  success  of  the  system,  and  require  the 
attention  of  a  single,  responsible  head. 

Two  varieties  of  labor  are  required  in  every  occupation  —  that  of  plan- 
ning, and  that  of  executing.  Most  men  work  after  prescribed  rules.  It  is 
easier  to  follow  the  footsteps  of  others  than  to  beat  a  new  path  for  ourselves. 
Some,  however,  are  most  naturally  and  successfully  employed  in  organizing, 
planning,  and  supervising.  This  difference  is  constitutional.  While  most 
men  are  content  to  know  how  a  process  is  performed,  a  comparatively  few 
are  impelled  to  study  the  rationale  of  methods. 

In  other  words,  there  is  empirical  knowledge  and  scientific  knowledge,  — 
a  knowledge  of  processes  merely,  and  a  profounder  knowledge  of  the  laws 
which  underlie  these  processes.  The  engineer  who  drives  his  engine  merely 
from  imitation,  and  the  engineer  who  understands  the  construction  of  this 
wonderful  machine  and  the  mechanical  principles  which  are  involved  in  its 
working,  possess  two  widely  different  grades  of  qualifications.  The  first  is 
a  machine  in  charge  of  a  machine ;  to  the  other  the  engine  is  as  though 
it  were  transparent,  revealing  its  minutest  part,  and  wholly  subject  to  his 
directing  will. 

In  case  of  accident,  these  two  orders  of  knowledge  are  brought  into 
striking  contrast.  The  lower  knowledge  is  useless  in  times  of  derangement 
—  under  abnormal  circumstances ;  while  the  higher,  being  able  to  penetrate 
into  the  causes  of  disturbance,  may  restore  the  normal  situation  of  affairs. 
The  peculiar  value  of  scientific  knowledge  is  the  extent  of 'its  previsions  — 
previsions  which  may  be  employed  either  in  anticipating  and  providing 
against  disaster  or  in  devising  new  and  better  processes. 


582     OUTLINES  AND  NOTES  OF  READING  CIRCLE   WORK 

It  is  safe  to  say  that  there  is  no  profession  in  which  empiricism  prevails 
to  such  an  extent  as  in  teaching.  In  other  professions  there  is  a  course  of 
preparatory  training,  designed  to  unfold  the  scientific  principles  which  under- 
lie the  arts  in  question ;  and  in  actual  practice  there  is  constant  reference 
to  the  laws  which  are  involved  in  the  various  cases  presenting  themselves, 
and  an  effort  to  discover  the  causes  of  that  which  is  abnormal,  and  thus  to 
proceed  by  rational  methods. 

In  teaching,  however,  tradition  and  imitation  are  dominant.  In  this 
country,  at  least,  teaching  is,  for  the  most  part,  a  mechanical  employment, 
and  teachers  differ  from  one  another  chiefly  in  industry  and  tact.  To  super- 
intend the  work  of  instruction  with  advantage  requires,  at  least,  consider- 
able executive  ability,  a  somewhat  complete  knowledge  of  the  branches 
taught,  and  ready  skill  in  discipline.  With  these  qualifications  alone,  a 
system  of  instruction  may  be  kept  from  deteriorating,  but  it  is  not  likely 
that  it  will  be  improved  to  any  considerable  extent  —  improved,  that  is,  by 
the  conception  of  more  philosophic  methods,  and  the  skillful  adaptation  of 
means  to  desired  ends. 

What  is  involved  in  an  improvement  purposely  made  ?  A  close  scrutiny 
of  the  principles  involved,  an  ideal  scheme  of  what  is  desired,  and  an  intelli- 
gent employment  of  adequate  means.  The  improvement  is  first  constructed 
in  thought  by  "  the  scientific  use  of  the  imagination,"  and  then  the  plan  is 
patiently  embodied  in  practice.  Superintendence,  then,  requires,  in  addition 
to  practical  skill,  scientific  prevision  derived  from  a  profounder  knowledge 
of  the  science  of  education. 

—  WILLIAM  H.  PAYNK. 

It  is  sometimes  asked  whether  a  teacher  should  join  freely  in  the  sports 
and  games  of  his  pupils?  To  our  mind,  the  answer  is  clearly  in  the  affirma- 
tive. Such  a  course,  if  judiciously  followed,  will  benefit  the  pupil;  it  may 
improve  the  character  of  his  sports ;  it  may  prevent  evils  that  would  other- 
wise infest  the  playground;  it  will  cement  the  bond  of  union  and  sympathy 
between  him  and  his  teacher.  It  will  benefit  the  teacher  by  bringing  him 
into  a  closer  sympathy  with  his  pupils;  it  will  help  him  to  keep  from  grow- 
ing old  before  his  time ;  it  will  give  him  a  better  insight  into  the  personal 
characteristics  of  his  pupils  than  anything  else.  But  he  must  join  in  the 
sports  as  an  equal ;  he  must  not,  by  the  assumption  of  a  dictatorial  manner, 
make  his  presence  on  the  playground  disagreeable ;  furthermore,  it  is  import- 
ant that  he  should  be  able  to  play  well  any  game  in  which  he  may  join.  If 
it  be  'objected  that  his  dignity  will  suffer  from  his  joining  in  the  pupils' 
plays,  we  have  only  to  say  that  a  dignity  which  cannot  bear  the  test  of  the 
playground  must  be  of  an  artificial  or  false  kind.  True  dignity  means 
genuine  worth  shown  in  a  worthy  way. 

—  EDWIN  C.  HKWKTT. 


&ARCY   WENTWORTH  THOMPSON  583 


NINTH  MONTH,  pp.  493-538 


D'ARCY  WENTWORTH   THOMPSON 

STUDIES 

General. — 1.  The  classical  master  in  the  Edinburgh  Academy  ; 
his  birth  and  early  training.  2.  Professor  Thompson's  visit 
to  the  United  States;  his  lectures;  his  books;  his  influence. 
3.  A  lover  of  cats  and  dogs  and  of  imperfect  children.  4.  A 
proposed  Caieteiim ;  its  Board  of  Guardians,  government,  and 
Special  Aggravators.  5.  A  proposed  training  for  nursery 
maidens;  their  equipment  of  leather  and  of  gerund  stones. 

6.  Spelling  lessons  for  the  model  nursery;  grammar  for  the 
model  nursery ;  biography  and  history  for  the  model  nursery. 

7.  Thompson's  elementary  school  training.     8.  How  men  look 
back  upon  their  school  days.     9.    How  the  classics  are  taught 
in  the  English  public  schools.     10.    A  vile  system  of  literal 
translations.     11.    A  broad  and  catholic  system  of  language 
study ;  how  Thompson  would  treat  Latin  and  Greek.     12.    A 
teacher's  vision  of  the  place  of  the  schoolmaster  in  the  lower 
world.     13.    The  schoolmaster's  love  letter.     14.    The  etymo- 
logical signification  of  teacher.    15.  How  Thompson  would  treat 
geometry.     16.    Diogenes  in  the  educational  field.     17.    How 
the  child's  life  may  be  rendered  dreary.     18.    The  jumbling 
system  in  education.     19.    The  jumbling  system  in  other  pro- 
fessions. 

Pedagogical. — 1.  The  barrenness  of  the  conventional  spell- 
ing lesson.  2.  Corporal  punishment  and  machine  work  in  the 
elementary  school.  3.  The  unprofitable  character  of  classical 
"cramming"  in  English  grammar  schools.  Thompson's  theory 
of  a  catholic  system  of  teaching  languages.  4.  How  Thomp- 
son would  teach  elementary  geometry.  5.  What  a  school- 
master can  do  with  a  youth  of  talent. 


£84     OUTLINES  AND  NOTES   OF  READING   CIRCLE   M'OKK 


NOTES 

Then  did  Erasmus  take  occasion  to  make  the  scoffing  remark,  — 

•'  Decem  annos  consumpsi  in  legendo  Cicerone "  (I  have  spent  ten  years  in 

reading  Cicero). 

And  the  echo  answered  in  Greek,  — 

"Ovf.  (pronounced  o'-ne  —  "  thou  ass  "). 

—  OLD  JOKE. 

I  think  it  incontestably  true  that  for  the  last  fifty  years  our  classical 

studies  have  been  too  critical  and  formal. 

—  PROFESSOR  SEDGWICK. 

First,  then,  I  believe  that  one  of  the  reasons  why  classical  studies  lie 
across  the  path  of  education,  unprogressive  themselves  and  a  hindrance  to 
all  other  progress,  is  the  present  superstitious  devotion  to  Greek  and  Latin 
composition,  and  the  present  irrational  mode  of  studying  grammar.  It  is 
in  this  direction  that  our  reform  must  be  most  radical  and  most  impera- 
tive. .  .  . 

Well  may  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  speak  of  "  that  intensely  stupid  practice, 
the  teaching  of  grammar  to  children."  "  Grammar,"  says  Home  Tooke 
(who  surely  was  a  good  judge,  if  any  one  was),  "is  among  the  first  things 
taught,  and  the  latest  understood." "  Yet  what  happens  ?  What  is  happen- 
ing at  this  moment  to  your  little  sons  ?  They  are  being  "  dragged  through 
grammar  as  through  a  cactus  bush,"  being  taught  it  in  a  way  which  always 
reminds  me  of  Judges  viii.  16,  where  it  says  that  Gideon  "took  thorns  of 
the  wilderness  and  briers,  and  with  these  he  taught  the  men  of  Succoth." 

—  CANON  FARRAR. 

"It  is  deplorable,"  says  the  poet  Cowley,  himself  a  brilliant  scholar,  "to 
consider  the  loss  which  children  make  at  most  schools,  employing,  or  rather 
casting  away,  six  or  seven  years  in  the  learning  of  words  only,  and  that 
very  imperfectly." 

"  We  do  amiss,"  says  John  Milton,  "  to  spend  seven  or  eight  years 
merely  in  scraping  together  so  mucli  miserable  Greek  and  Latin  as  might 
be  learned  otherwise  easily  and  delightfully  in  one  year." 

Neither  am  I  so  foolish  as  to  reject  grammar,  but  would  only  have  it 
taught  to  persons  who  by  ripeness  of  understanding  are  able  to  comprehend 

the  reasons  thereof. 

—  R.  CAREW. 

It  may  be  affirmed  without  hesitation  that  grammar  is  not  the  stepping- 
stone,  but  the  finishing  instrument. 

—  M.  MARCEL. 


D'ARCY   WENTWORTH   THOMPSON  585 

There  are  usually  easier  avenues  to  the  heart  than  that  which  is  found 
through  the  integuments  of  the  body.  Happy  is  that  teacher  who  is  so 
skillful  as  to  find  them ;  and  gladly  would  I  welcome  the  day  when  the 
number  of  such  skillful  and  devoted  teachers  should  render  any  further 
defense  of  the  rod  superfluous.  Although  I  believe  that  day  has  not  yet 
arrived,  still,  in  the  meantime,  I  most  earnestly  urge  all  teachers  to  strive 
to  reach  the  higher  motives  and  the  finer  feelings  of  the  young,  and  to  rely 
mainly  for  success,  not  upon  appeals  to  fear  and  force,  but  upon  the  power 
of  conscience  and  the  law  of  reciprocal  affection. 

As  1  have  placed  the  higher  motives  and  the  more  desirable  means  first 
in  order  in  these  remarks  on  government,  so  I  would  always  have  them 
first,  and  perseveringly  employed  by  the  teacher;  and  if,  by  earnestness 
in  his  work,  by  unfeigned  love  for  the  young,  by  diligence  in  the  study  of 
their  natures  and  the  adaptation  of  means  to  ends,  which  true  benevolence 
is  sure  to  suggest,  he  can  govern  successfully  without  corporal  punishment 
—  as  in  a  large  proportion  of  cases  I  believe  it  can  be  done  —  none  will 
rejoice  more  than  I  at  such  a  desirable  result ;  and  I  most  cordially  sub- 
scribe to  the  principle  so  happily  stated  by  another,  that  in  the  government 
of  schools,  if  thorough  obedience  be  but  secured  and  order  maintained, 
other  things  being  equal,  "  The  minimum  of  punishment  is  the  maximum 
of  excellence."  -DAvm  P.  PAGE. 

Nearly  every  subject  dealt  with  is  arranged  in  abnormal  order;  definitions 
and  rules  and  principles  being  put  first,  instead  of  being  disclosed,  as  they  are 

in  the  order  of  nature,  through  the  study  of  cases. 

—  HERBERT  SPENCER. 

I  am  strongly  opposed  to  what  I  conceive  to  be  a  most  false  application 
of  a  true  principle  —  namely,  making  children  learn  Latin  at  a  very  early 
period  of  life,  particularly  .  .  .  through  the  medium  of  technical  grammar. 
This,  instead  of  naturally  and  healthfully  exercising  the  verbal  memory  of  a 
child,  tends  to  overload  it  with  a  weight  of  barbarous  terms,  all  explana- 
tions of  which  imply  a  power  of  abstraction  quite  beyond  his  years. 

—  DR.  JERRARD. 

Rules  are  learned  by  the  ear  and  by  rote,  without  any  digestion  of  the 
understanding ;  a  habit  is  generated  of  accepting  and  using  words  without 
an  insight  into  their  meaning,  and  of  applying  principles  in  practice  with- 
out a  thought  of  their  real  nature. 

—  PROF.  HALFORD  VACTGHAN. 

I  know  hardly  a  single  scholar  who  is  not  of  opinion  that  the  common 
system  of  teaching  syntax  by  abstract  rules,  conveyed  in  a  difficult  style, 
and  at  first  unintelligible  to  the  learner,  is  a  grievous  waste  of  time,  and, 
what  is  worse,  a  waste  of  the  learner's  energy  and  readiness  to  be  taught. 

—  E.  E.  BOWBN. 


586     OUTLINES  AND  NOTES   OF  READING   CIRCLE   WORK 
ERNST   ECKSTEIN 

STUDIES 

General.  —  1.  The  versatility  and  popularity  of  Eckstein. 
2.  His  principal  works.  3.  The  Visit  to  the  Cell;  the 
marvelous  sale  of  the  book ;  criticisms  made  by  certain  teachers. 
4.  Eckstein's  reply  to  his  critics.  5.  The  German  Gymna- 
sium. 6.  Dr.  Heinzerling ;  his  peculiarities  of  pronunciation. 
7.  Rumpf's  mimicry  ;  his  punishment.  8.  The  lesson  in  Phi- 
loctetes.  9.  The  Doctor's  visit  to  the  cell ;  the  Doctor  a 
prisoner.  10.  Rumpf's  triumph ;  the  Doctor  at  liberty. 
11.  How  the  Doctor  came  to  look  upon  the  incident. 

Pedagogical. — 1.  The  teacher's  mannerism  a  source  of  weak- 
ness. 2.  Solitary  imprisonment  as  a  means  of  discipline  in  a 
school.  3.  Humorous  pranks  of  students,  and  how  they  should 
be  treated. 

NOTES 

The  importance  of  correct  habits  to  any  individual  cannot  be  overrated. 
The  influence  of  the  teacher  is  so  great  upon  the  children  under  his  care, 
either  for  good  or  for  evil,  that  it  is  of  the  utmost  importance  to  them,  as  well 
as  to  himself,  that  his  habits  should  be  unexceptionable.  It  is  the  teacher's 
sphere  to  improve  the  community  in  which  he  moves,  not  only  in  learning, 
but  in  morals  and  manners;  in  everything  that  is  "lovely  and  of  good 
report."  This  he  may  do  partly  by  precept, — but  very  much  by  example. 
He  teaches,  wherever  he  is.  His  manners,  his  appearance,  his  character,  are 
all  the  subject  of  observation,  and  to  a  great  extent,  of  imitation,  by  the 

young  in  his  district. 

—DAVID  P.  PAGE. 

Habits  not  morally  objectionable  are  sometimes  hindrances  to  intellectual 
progress  and  to  efficiency  in  the  work  of  learning  or  teaching.  Mr.  Sully 
says :  "  Taken  in  a  narrow  sense,  habit  is,  in  a  manner,  opposed  to  growth. 
By  following  out  a  train  of  ideas  again  and  again  in  a  certain  way,  we  lose 
the  capability  of  varying  this  order;  of  readapting  the  combination  to  new 
circumstances.  Habit  is  thus  the  element  of  persistence,  of  custom,  the 
conservative  tendency ;  whereas  growth  implies  flexibility,  modifiability, 
susceptibility  to  new  impressions,  the  progressive  tendency."  The  danger 


UUNST  ECKSTEIN  587 

from  this  element  in  habit  needs  to  be  guarded  against  by  students  and  by 
teachers  who  expect  to  keep  fully  up  with  the  progress  of  events,  with  the 
improvements  in  the  sciences  and  arts,  and  with  the  changing  methods  of 

study  and  instruction. 

—  DANIEL  PUTNAM. 

When  liberty  is  abused,  a  scholar  may  be  put  under  restraint.  When 
duty  is  violated,  and  the  rights  of  others  are  wantonly  disregarded,  confine- 
ment will  afford  time  for  reflection,  and  at  the  same  time  relieve  others  from 
the  annoyance  and  detriment  of  evil  example.  Such  restraint  is  often  a 
wholesome  discipline;  and  confinement,  if  it  be  not  too  far  protracted,  is 
always  safe.  It  should  be  remarked,  however,  that  confinement  in  a  dark 
apartment  should  never  be  resorted  to  by  any  teacher.  There  are  insuper- 
able objections  to  it,  growing  out  of  the  fears  which  many  children  early 
entertain  of  being  alone  in  the  dark,  as  also  the  fact  that  light  as  well  as  air 
is  necessary  to  the  vigorous  action  of  the  nervous  system  during  the  waking 
hours,  especially  in  the  daytime.  It  is  well  known  that  a  child  shut  up  in 
a  dark  room,  even  in  the  warmth  of  summer,  speedily  undergoes  a  depres- 
sion of  temperature ;  and  if  the  confinement  is  unduly  protracted,  cold  chills 
come  over  the  system.  For  these  reasons  and  others,  if  confinement  is  ever 
used  as  a  punishment,  it  should  be  in  a  room  properly  lighted  and  heated. 

— DAVID  P.  PAGE. 

There  is  another  form  of  thought  which  provokes  not  a  "  laugh  at  men 
and  things,"  but  a  "  laugh  with  them."  This  form  of  thought,  which 
Thackeray  has  defined  to  be  a  compound  of  wit  and  love,  is  better  humor. 
Humor  is  wit,  with  an  infusion  of  good-nature  and  tender  sympathy.  Wit 
is  a  brilliant  flash ;  humor  is  a  lingering  sunbeam,  cheering  while  it  brightens. 
It  is  nobler  than  wit,  for  it  mingles  the  tender  emotions  of  the  heart  with 

the  brilliant  conceptions  of  the  intellect. 

— VIRGINIA  WADDY. 

The  subject  of  humor  is  character  —  not  everything  in  character,  not  its 
graver  faults  or  vices,  but  its  peculiarities,  its  foibles,  caprices,  extravagances, 
anxieties,  jealousies,  childish  fondnesses,  and  weaknesses  generally  —  its 
affectation,  vanity,  and  self-conceit. 

One  who  possesses  a  talent  for  the  humorous,  finds  the  greatest  scope  for 
its  display  in  telling  familiar  stories,  or  in  acting  a  whimsical  part  in  assumed 
character.  Even  the  mimicking  of  minute  peculiarities  of  pronunciation 
or  of  grammatical  faults  in  discourse  is  admissible  in  the  humorous  produc- 
tion. The  object  is  to  expose  the  weak  points  of  the  individual  under 
description,  and  these  are  often  best  set  forth  by  entering  into  the  minutest 
details.  Even  over-acting,  if  not  immoderate,  contributes  to  the  entertain- 
ment of  the  picture. 

—  G.   P.   QUACKENBOS. 


1.  How  is  a  teacher's  ignorance  of  the  literature  of  his  profession  satirized 
by  Scribe? 

2.  What  were  the  leading  features  of  the  Gradgrind  system  of  education  ? 

3.  How  is  pedantry  in  language  satirized  by  Rabelais? 

4.  How  does  Pope  characterize  the  education  of  the  elementary  schools 
in  his  day  ? 

5.  How  does  Pope  satirize  the  narrowness  of  specialists  ? 

6.  What  was  the  plan  of  elimination  set  forth  by  Alexander  Petrovitch 
in  the  sketch  by  Gogol  ? 

7.  What  characteristics  of  a  teacher  are  satirized  by  Robertson  in  his 
portraiture  of  Mr.  Krux,  the  schoolmaster? 

8.  What  danger  to  students  is  portrayed  in  WILLIS'S   SCHOLAR   OF 
THEBET  BEN  KHORAT? 

9.  What  were  the  tests  of  Telemaque's  education,  as  related  by  Fenelon  ? 

10.  What  was  the  effect  of  harsh  discipline  upon  the  childhood  of  Lady 
Jane  Grey? 

1 1.  How  does  Saxe  satirize  charlatan  schemes  for  acquiring  an  education 
without  mental  labor  ? 

12.  What  ideas  of  education  for  girls  are  inculcated  by  Berquin  ? 

13.  What  form  of  mannerism  of  the  teacher  was  satirized  by  Scribe? 

14.  What  advice  of  Rabelais'  Gargantua  to  Pantagruel  in  reference  to 
the  study  of  languages  would  be  deemed  unwise  at  the  present  day? 

15.  How  does  Pope  satirize  the  minute  criticism  of  the  universities  of 
his  time  ? 

688 


QUESTIONS  589 

16.  What  was  the  moral  influence  of   French  Pensions  upon   boys,  as 
illustrated  by  Berquin  ? 

17.  What  objection  has  been  urged  by  teachers  to  ECKSTEIN'S  VISIT  TO 
THE  CELL? 

18.  What  is  the  most  general  objection  to  the  scheme  of  education  por- 
trayed by  Rabelais  ? 

19.  How  is  the  teaching  of  spelling  and  reading  satirized  in  D'Arcy 
Thompson's  Caieteiim?   What  were  the  proposed  equipments  of  the  teachers  ? 

20.  Mention  three  general  characteristics  of  Shakspeare  as  a  dramatist. 

21.  How  is  the  mannerism  of  a  schoolmaster  burlesqued  by  Eckstein  ? 

22.  How  is  excessive  object  teaching  satirized  by  Swift? 

23.  In  a  general  education,  what  degree  of  acquaintance  with  the  classics 
is  especially  desirable  ? 

24.  To  what  schoolmasters  in  fiction  has  the  name  Holofernes   been 
given?    What  is  its  satirical  import? 

25.  How  is  the  old-time  teaching  of  the  alphabet  satirized  by  Rabelais  ? 

26.  What  class  of  juvenile  literature  was  originated  by  Fenelon  ?     How 
has  its  influence  increased  in  modern  education  ? 

27.  What  was  Maria  Edge  worth's  favorite  form  of  contrast? 

28.  How  does  Gogol  satirize  his  own  great  undertaking  in  literature  ? 

29.  How  is  over-conservatism  in  pronunciation  satirized  by  Shakspeare? 

30.  What  was  the  result  of  the  training  of  Louisa  and  Cecilia,  under  the 
Gradgrind  system  ? 

31.  What  form  of  punishment  in  a  German  gymnasium  is  portrayed  by 
Eckstein  ? 

32.  What  was  the  lamentable  result  of  Tentetnikof 's  education  ? 

33.  How  did  Telemaque's  education  enable  him  to  resist  the  temptation 
of  ambition? 

34.  What  place  has  the  study  of  character  in  modern  education  ? 

35.  How  is  the  preparation  of  the  teacher  satirized  in  Dickens'  descrip- 
tion of  Mr.  M'Choakumchild's  training  ? 

36.  How  does  Saxe  characterize  popular  translations  from  the  French? 

37.  What   characteristic  of   a  teacher  is  satirized   in   Robertson's   por- 
traiture of  Dr.  Sutcliffe  ? 


590  QUESTIONS 

38.  What  trait  of  Mr.  Bounderby  is  especially  satirized  by  Dickens  ? 

39.  What  influence  has  Russian  despotism  upon  the  Russian  novel? 

40.  What  traits  of  members  of  a  school  board  are  humorously  portrayed 
by  Bardeen? 

41.  What  astronomical  facts  were  stated,  by  a  remarkable  accident,  in 
Swift's  satire  ? 

42.  What  is  D' Arcy  Thompson's  theory  as  to  the  school  "  dunce  "  ? 

43.  In  Pope's  satire,  what  political  philosophy  are  the  universities  of 
England  satirically  recommended  to  teach? 

44.  What  features  of  the  education  of  girls  are  satirized  by  Saxe  ? 

45.  What  is  the  distinction  between  coarseness  and  prurience?    Which 
is  the  more  harmful  ? 

46.  How  is  the  tutor  satirized  in  THE  GREATER  DUNCIAD? 

47.  What  good  end  was,  after  all,  subserved  by  the  coarseness  of  Rabelais? 

48.  What  features  of  school  examinations  are  satirized  by  Robertson  ? 

49.  What  lessons  are  taught  by  the  life  of  Dean  Swift? 

50.  In  what  forms  of  mental  training  were  the  people  of  Lagado  wholly 
deficient,  according  to  Swift? 

51.  What  are  the  leading  characteristics  of  Pope's  versification  ? 

52.  What  weaknesses  of  a  graded  school  principal  are  humorously  por- 
trayed by  Bardeeu  ? 

53.  What  rank  did  Robertson  hold  among  contemporary  dramatic  writers? 

54.  How    is    inductive    learning    burlesqued    in    KING    FERDINAND'S 
ACADEMY? 

55.  How  did  Scribe  set  a  notable  example  to  other  writers  in  his  personal 
relations  with  men  ? 

56.  How  did  Biron,  of  KING  FERDINAND'S  ACADEMY,  begin  a  reform  in 
his  speech  ? 

57.  What  can  you  say  of  the  versatility  of  Eckstein's  genius  ? 

58.  What  type  of  character  of  the  student  is  described  by  Shakspeare  as 
dangerous? 

59.  What  are  the  best  works  of  Colman  the  Younger  ? 

60.  How  does  Scribe  satirize  the  ease  with  which  educational  charlatans 
impose  upon  the  people? 


QUESTIONS  591 

61.  How  is  the  undignified  teacher  lampooned  by  Colman  and  Scribe  ? 

62.  How  does  D'Arcy  Thompson  satirize  the  parsing  of  Latin  poetry  ? 

63.  What  knowledge  of  the  evil  in  the  world  should  be  communicated  to 
boys  in  school,  according  to  Gogol? 

64.  What  is   included  in   the  character  of  a  mentor,   as  depicted  by 
Fenelon  ? 

65.  What  lesson  in  school  discipline  is  inculcated  by  Bardeen,  in  Roderick 
Hume? 

66.  In  Gogol's  work,  what  was  remarkable  in  the  regard  of  Petrovitch's 
pupils  for  their  schoolmaster? 

67.  In  Pope's  satire,  what  is  represented  by  the  cup  of  Magus  ? 

68.  What  lesson  is  the  teacher  to  learn  from  Eckstein's  story  of  Dr.  Samuel 
Heinzerling  ? 

69.  How  is  a  want  of  unity  among  the  teachers  of  a  school  illustrated 
by  Gogol? 

70.  How  is  modern  charlatanism  in  science  ridiculed  by  Saxe  ? 

71.  How   is   casuistry   in    reasoning   satirized   in    KING   FERDINAND'S 
ACADEMY  ? 

72.  What  great  sacrifice  of  an  Arab  boy  for  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  is 
portrayed  by  Willis? 

73.  How  has  the  study  of  the  lower  forms  of   life  in  the  animal  and 
vegetable  world  contributed,  in  our  day,  to  human  progress?     What  was 
Pope's  error  in  his  reference  to  such  study  ? 

74.  Why  is  it  impracticable  at  the  present  time  for  a  student  to  make  a 
thorough  study  of  all  the  sciences  ? 

75.  What  were  the  influences  of  Berquin's  and  of  Maria  Edgeworth's 
writings  upon  the  character  of  children  ? 

76.  What  influence  had  Rabelais  upon  succeeding  writers  on  education  ? 

77.  In  what  estimation  is  the  writing  of  books  for  children  held  at  the 
present  time  ? 

78.  What  calamity  did  Berquin  escape  by  his  early  death? 

79.  What  was  the  significance  of  the  Samian  letter  in  the  schools  of 
ancient  times?     To  what  misuse  is  it  given  in  Pope's  satire? 

80.  What  are  the  essential  principles  of  Pestalozzianism  ? 


592  QUESTIONS 

81.  What  are  the  principal  characteristics  of  the  schoolmaster  in  KING 
FERDINAND'S  ACADEMY  ? 

82.  What  was  Ascham's  plan  of  teaching  the  classics  ?     How  is  it  re- 
garded at  the  present  day? 

83.  What  is  the  best  means  of  safety  in   temptation,  as  taught  by 
Fenelon  ? 

84.  How  can  history  and  geography  be  successfully  combined  in  teaching  ? 

85.  How  is  the  borrowing  of  trouble  satirized  by  Swift  ?    What  should 
be  the  influence  of  education  upon  a  pupil's  disposition  to  borrow  trouble*? 

86.  How  is  the  conferring  of  honorary  degrees  satirized  by  Pope  ? 

87.  What  juvenile  books  of  your  acquaintance  belong  to  the  school  of 
writing  invented  by  Fe*nelon  ?     What  is  their  general  value  ? 

88.  How  does  Bardeen  satirize  the  neglect  of  apparatus  in  some  schools  ? 

89.  How  are  the  vicious  influences  of  "fast "  city  life  upon  children  illus- 
trated by  Miss  Edge  worth  ? 

90.  In  your  own  experience,  what  is  the  extent  of  the  danger  portrayed 
by  Willis? 

91.  How  are  school  "  fads  "  satirized  by  Swift  ? 

92.  What  is  the  aim  of  Gogol  in  his  portraiture  of  Alexander  Petrovitch  ? 
How  does  this  differ  from  most  of  his  delineations  ? 

93.  What  was  Dr.  Heinzerling's  requirement  as  to  expression  in  a  render- 
ing of  the  Philoctetes  f 

94.  What  amusements  derived  from  French  teachers  were  discarded  by 
Alexander  Petrovitch,  in  the  school  portrayed  by  Gogol  ?    What  were  sub- 
stituted for  them  ? 

95.  What  was  Pope's  sarcasm  on  the  vocal  rendering  of  Latin  poetry? 
How  is  this  regarded  at  the  present  time  ? 

96.  What  use  is  made  of  fairy  tales  in  primary  schools  of  the  present 
time? 

97.  What  error  was  committed  by  Tentetnikof  in  his  training  of  the 
serfs? 

98.  How  does  Pope  satirize  the  absence  of  religious  training  in  educa- 
tion ? 

99.  What  does  Gogol  say  of  the  manner  of  his  teachers  in  lecturing? 
100.   What  qualities  of  the  successful  teacher  are  portrayed  by  Bardeen  ? 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


SUBJECT  TO 

EDUCA 

FEB  2  7  1962 
APR  5       1962 
NOV  *  8  1963 


FEB  1  7  1971 
RECEIVED 

MAR  1  5  1971 


FINE  IF  NOT 

riON 


QUARTER  LOAf 

JAN  7    1981 


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H   LIB. 


Form  L9-17»n-8,'55(B333984)444 


i 


Education 
Library 

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1781 

S62s 


A    001  140280    7 


